Softly spoken words
rise up from the soul,
and straight to your brain they go.
And fall down you watchful eyes and into your moving lips.
As you silently compose you words,
they fall straight to your arms,
and travel to your fingertips,
like lightening they appear on the screen,
wrapped up in a little package,
sealed with angel kisses
to be sent straight to me.
How did you know that I was not bold?
That I need a hand to hold if only for awhile?
How did you know I needed to cry?
How did you know I needed to be mad?
Not to bottle up all those feelings that I had inside?
How did you know I needed to dance?
To be reminded of romance?
How did you know I needed to be a child
to not be judged or mistreated for awhile?
How did you know I was abused,
and my voice was always refused?
How did you know I needed a rose garden?
How did you know I needed a family?
How did you know I needed love?
The answer is strange, though it's true.
You are me and I am you.
Other wise how would I know you were in pain,
Or without me you wouldn't be the same.
There was I time I said, without any dread
"I am outside looking in, and I feel fine."
Now that I'm inside looking out,
I much prefer the view.