She is strong, unwavering.
And in her strength lies in her weakness.
Yet in her weakness she is beautiful,
Unquestioned and yet silently questioning,
A plethora of untapped perfection.
And un-perfect in her perfect.
I ask if my absence would cause distress.
Answering without question, she answers;
in weeping, a torrent, tempest and, as I say,
whirlwind of rage.
Repeat, Once, twice, twenty-five times.
Afraid of fear.
love holds her up
I am standing.
The hands of love are within me