Will you?

Will you be the harbour?
The promise of safety in times of stormy weather.

Will you be the sculptor?
The one to mould hope from the dark and smouldering ashes.

Will you be the saviour?
The hands prepared to heal me when I fall from life’s cruel wounds.

Will you be the lifeline?
The one to catch me when the world gives way beneath my feet.

For I will be your confidant.
The one to greet your soft blue eyes at dawn
and hold you when they close for one last time.