she waits in the misty forest
quietly aches for her true love’s hands
blinks back tears and bites her lip
giving herself to an angry man…
she wanders down the river’s bank
picking berries and pruning flowers
never noticing the blood that flows
from pretty thorn-torn finger tips

he’s searched the hills and valleys
avoiding the native’s arrow and spears
finally settling on the mountain’s top,
providing for wife and craving kids…
as his perch becomes a prison
he screams at the top of his lungs
howls that echo thru the cold night air,
a pain the others can’t understand

if the world could peer inside
they’d see halves of a single soul
as the continent grows between them
fillings the lakes with good intentions…
pretty ripples and tiny droplets
never return to a thrown stone,
so, they cling to hope and silent dreams
waiting for forever to begin