Dartmoor

sometimes loneliness is a gift
when the world slows down
quiets long enough to listen
when I am forced to talk to the only One
there
the only One who always listens
behind the worlds He waits
when I run out
when nothing distracts
I start to listen too and to
these hilly rugged moments
where grasses crushed by wind
by rain, by foot and hoof
still embrace the sunshine
turning blades toward the southern sea
pause
finding when feeling most forsaken
I am never alone
so I lower my face to the storm
a thousand droplets like daggers
one foot at a time
when the path runs out
I step from soggy hillock over marsh
looking beyond
finding hopeful sights ahead
keeping the end in sight
one
sometimes loneliness is a gift
when my Beloved speaks
I ache to hear His voice
so I wait here awhile