The Writers Voice
Aging is raging toward it's own self disguise, removing my youth with no certain surprise. The lack of attack until now seemed apparent, however this latest is nowhere transparent. I've emerged an older woman, having lost middle-aged, with highlights of silver and yearnings still caged, to be my own person, no matter the cost, for time is too precious and all is not lost. I want a reason for being a broad or a dame, for my desire for love is still the same, to attract and claim that passion so missed, of being mildly, and magically kissed. Let it rain, let it pour, all I want is more, of what is lacking in the packing of my life's reservoir. Put it here, put it there, please simply put it everywhere, that feeling of bliss that I so do miss, the resounding pounding of mere mortal remiss. When I stop to ponder however, I must confess, to know this test is not the best, for such romance would only bring the surprise and demise of all that cling. Instead I ask for a peaceful surrender to Your enhancement of my advancement, toward knowing that love I so much require, that reflects Your patience, love, and desire.
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