I'm not a sentence, I am a book and I deserve a second look. Why are casual glances so commonly exchanged? My rumbling cloud longs to throw wild lightning, fears relax while my fists are tightening, yet I know that I would still be nothing more than weather.
I don't need to control the tides, ebb the waters far and wide, but would like to see a wave and know that it was just for me. All the heavens crisp and white fade to grey most every night, though the morning promises to bring a new radiance.
I see myself and all I've done in the earth, the moon and in my sons. Their brilliance far exceeds my own. I will try to avoid regret, knowing my path has not been set - if only for the prosperity of those who depend on me.