I know I don't dare write a word like a fool
But I've got this odd feeling I'll look back again
And see how I felt every word in the wind
And every thought thundered and every breath rained
All over the pages of weeks that went by
And to write them was merely like letting them live.
They look like they're dead yet and so they shall be
As I wait for the signal you've waited to give.
What if I'm wrong? Then the words are like dust
If I'm right? Then let them be music to you.
Only fools write of love they cannot yet prove.
But my days of writing of fear now are through.
I have felt you in moments of peace and of prayer;
I have felt you in silence and in dark, starry nights;
The words fill the room till it's full of your absence;
Like a fool I've no choice but to take them and write.
I know I don't dare write a word till you speak,
But they float high above me and give me no choice.
They will rain on my pages in thunder and light
Till you say the word, and my words have a voice.
postscript
This is what happens when you get to know someone mostly in the written word. Then he says the word, and the words are alive and loud.