True Love Lies

Not in the cooing of doves,
nor in the cries of eagles.
Not in the songs of crickets,
nor the call of the wind.

When the doves fall quiet,
and the eagles sound no more,
when the crickets give way
to the silence of the wind,
True love lies.

Not in lofty mountain vistas,
nor in chill valley depths.
Not in grand walls of stone,
nor the halls of towering Kings.

When the mountain vistas lie shattered,
and chill valleys fill with fog,
when the stone walls crumble to dust,
and only tombs of Kings remain,
True love lies.

Not in the patter of spring rain,
nor in the warmth of summer sun.
Not under a blanket of soft snow,
nestled before a fire.

When the rains stops falling,
and the sun begins to set,
when the snow drifts away,
leaving bare earth,
True love lies.

Not in the muted sighs of passion,
nor the grand language of promises.
Not in the soft laughter of teasing,
nor the misty whispers of dreams.

When the passion stills to sleep,
and the promises lie broken,
when the laughter fades past tears,
and the dreams vanish into ghosts...

Soul, bare and bleeding, held out
without expectation or hope.
In placing all that I am
into trusted hands.
There true love lies.