A day! A day and its darkened counterpart!
Its night, its elegant blanket of black and coal.
What a difference a day can make.
What a change can be imparted
From the setting of the sun
To the rising of it, anew, the next morning.
What has changed between us?
What hath this new day brought us
That so alters the manner in which we converse?
Counsel, my counsel I should lend to thy ear
Or at the very least, let you lend your speak to mine
In a manner that doth allow more console than counsel.
Thine friend am I, thy companion in thought and action.
Alike are we two in our manner, our speak.
But what could have been done to change
That you would no longer speak to me as kin or as friend?
Hath my speech, my yesterday’s impart,
Impaired, impaled, itself upon our link?
Did my tongue, speaking words of my heart,
Reach thy ears with bitterness?
Did my confession tear asunder the
Pairing you had with another?
My intention it was not, nor my goal.
No harm was meant by it,
Nor were thou even meant to see,
Though perhaps in my heart of hearts,
The depths of my soul,
The very bottom of my being,
Perhaps at the base of all I am
Did I wish thee to see it
And in this wishing perhaps brought it about.
Aye what a cruel twist that would be,
And the Fates would thence become near
Many times worse than I thought before.
But low, it was not my intention to tear asunder
To rip or ream you from your other heart.
A friend I am to thee, thou must believe it
Never would I wish upon thee any heartache
Any pain, none would I send thine way.
For even should I want that we wert one,
Wert dream that we wouldst be
More than friends, than kinsmen of kindness,
Never would I wish it so if
In its coming about, its coming true,
It meant that thou must be delivered up
To pain or anguish or sorrow.
I would want it only if it might be imparted,
Might be granted this heart-whispered dream,
Without a drop of blood or wrench of pain.
I care about thee so but if it is to be
Then so it must be on its own.
No wish do I have to interfere
With the natural course of things,
Even if I should wish that the natural course
Doth hurry more along its way.
But Friend, friend I call thee
And friend I wish thee to be if nothing else
Be allowed or permitted or wished by
Ones such as Fate or you.
Care for you I do but so much so
That never would I want thee to be unhappy
Or feel unloved or lonely,
Never would I want thee to live the heartache
Of separation or the pain of longing.
I alone to whom these feelings should be imparted
And gladly would I take them
If taking meant thou would never feel them again.
Noting but best and brightest do I wish upon thee,
Even if to do so would wish and inflict
Best and Brightest’s opposites upon myself.
But low again I say and wait do I doth mean.
Your counsel you have ripped from me.
I know not your heart, your deeds,
Unaware am I of any desire you might have.
Make I this confession all in vain?
I do not know, fie, I do not.
I stream my heart to thee
But know not how thy doth receive it.
In jest, in mockery?
In bitterness and hate?
In sorrow or Sadness,
Joy and gladness?
Pace do I in my mind’s eye
And wander back and forth in mine own heart.
Unsettledness sits with me though I cannot sit
And bound and bent am I to the will of nerves.
Am I lost to madness?
Hath my mind abandoned me and
Taken with it my senses who doth
Conspire to take leave on their own?
Alas, unsure am I in mind and stomach both,
In thought and action and not least of all:
Heart and the feelings it doth command.
And so here am I placed and so placed must remain.
Though, resigned as I am, I wish elsewhere I might be.
But now we come upon another question,
Another quarrel of heart and mind,
Good sense and desire clashing together yet again.
Should this message of my emotions,
another one that comes from truth,
be placed for all to see?
Though truly none might see it
Should Fate not will it so.
But digression comes and I lose my thought.
Placed in public eye will this be?
For all or none or only you to see?
Unsure am I.
A risk it is, a great risk.
For while the other message was wide,
Was ambiguous much more so,
This letter does seem narrower and more specific.
Should thou happen upon it,
As thou might or might not have upon the other,
There might not be any doubt to linger in thy mind
As to who I speak of.
Fear holds me it does.
Fear of rejection or foolishness.
As I said, I know not your heart,
Know not how thou might read or take this,
Nor do I know who thou might read or take this to.
A great risk is before me.
An epic inner struggle
Between my desire to speak and be heard
And my fear of being seen and understood.
I. Know. Not. Your. Heart.
And in not knowing I am frozen.
Alas resignation comes.
If I am to let you know any anything,
Any secrets of my heart,
Whether I tell them to you as friend or foe or other,
Must be spoken or doomed to fester.
And so, timidly do I utter these words aloud.
Only Hope can save me now,
From Mockery or Shame or Foolishness.
I await response or no response.
So in truth I await nothing.
I simply hope, though I know not which way.
It is in the hand of Fate or hands of Fates,
Fickle creatures that they are.
But wash my hands clean do I.
Courses will take as they are meant to be taken.
At the least, the minimum,
I can at least proclaim my conscience clean.
Content I am, though I am not,
To wait, to allow paths to take as they must.
And in the end all will be as it should.
Its night, its elegant blanket of black and coal.
What a difference a day can make.
What a change can be imparted
From the setting of the sun
To the rising of it, anew, the next morning.
What has changed between us?
What hath this new day brought us
That so alters the manner in which we converse?
Counsel, my counsel I should lend to thy ear
Or at the very least, let you lend your speak to mine
In a manner that doth allow more console than counsel.
Thine friend am I, thy companion in thought and action.
Alike are we two in our manner, our speak.
But what could have been done to change
That you would no longer speak to me as kin or as friend?
Hath my speech, my yesterday’s impart,
Impaired, impaled, itself upon our link?
Did my tongue, speaking words of my heart,
Reach thy ears with bitterness?
Did my confession tear asunder the
Pairing you had with another?
My intention it was not, nor my goal.
No harm was meant by it,
Nor were thou even meant to see,
Though perhaps in my heart of hearts,
The depths of my soul,
The very bottom of my being,
Perhaps at the base of all I am
Did I wish thee to see it
And in this wishing perhaps brought it about.
Aye what a cruel twist that would be,
And the Fates would thence become near
Many times worse than I thought before.
But low, it was not my intention to tear asunder
To rip or ream you from your other heart.
A friend I am to thee, thou must believe it
Never would I wish upon thee any heartache
Any pain, none would I send thine way.
For even should I want that we wert one,
Wert dream that we wouldst be
More than friends, than kinsmen of kindness,
Never would I wish it so if
In its coming about, its coming true,
It meant that thou must be delivered up
To pain or anguish or sorrow.
I would want it only if it might be imparted,
Might be granted this heart-whispered dream,
Without a drop of blood or wrench of pain.
I care about thee so but if it is to be
Then so it must be on its own.
No wish do I have to interfere
With the natural course of things,
Even if I should wish that the natural course
Doth hurry more along its way.
But Friend, friend I call thee
And friend I wish thee to be if nothing else
Be allowed or permitted or wished by
Ones such as Fate or you.
Care for you I do but so much so
That never would I want thee to be unhappy
Or feel unloved or lonely,
Never would I want thee to live the heartache
Of separation or the pain of longing.
I alone to whom these feelings should be imparted
And gladly would I take them
If taking meant thou would never feel them again.
Noting but best and brightest do I wish upon thee,
Even if to do so would wish and inflict
Best and Brightest’s opposites upon myself.
But low again I say and wait do I doth mean.
Your counsel you have ripped from me.
I know not your heart, your deeds,
Unaware am I of any desire you might have.
Make I this confession all in vain?
I do not know, fie, I do not.
I stream my heart to thee
But know not how thy doth receive it.
In jest, in mockery?
In bitterness and hate?
In sorrow or Sadness,
Joy and gladness?
Pace do I in my mind’s eye
And wander back and forth in mine own heart.
Unsettledness sits with me though I cannot sit
And bound and bent am I to the will of nerves.
Am I lost to madness?
Hath my mind abandoned me and
Taken with it my senses who doth
Conspire to take leave on their own?
Alas, unsure am I in mind and stomach both,
In thought and action and not least of all:
Heart and the feelings it doth command.
And so here am I placed and so placed must remain.
Though, resigned as I am, I wish elsewhere I might be.
But now we come upon another question,
Another quarrel of heart and mind,
Good sense and desire clashing together yet again.
Should this message of my emotions,
another one that comes from truth,
be placed for all to see?
Though truly none might see it
Should Fate not will it so.
But digression comes and I lose my thought.
Placed in public eye will this be?
For all or none or only you to see?
Unsure am I.
A risk it is, a great risk.
For while the other message was wide,
Was ambiguous much more so,
This letter does seem narrower and more specific.
Should thou happen upon it,
As thou might or might not have upon the other,
There might not be any doubt to linger in thy mind
As to who I speak of.
Fear holds me it does.
Fear of rejection or foolishness.
As I said, I know not your heart,
Know not how thou might read or take this,
Nor do I know who thou might read or take this to.
A great risk is before me.
An epic inner struggle
Between my desire to speak and be heard
And my fear of being seen and understood.
I. Know. Not. Your. Heart.
And in not knowing I am frozen.
Alas resignation comes.
If I am to let you know any anything,
Any secrets of my heart,
Whether I tell them to you as friend or foe or other,
Must be spoken or doomed to fester.
And so, timidly do I utter these words aloud.
Only Hope can save me now,
From Mockery or Shame or Foolishness.
I await response or no response.
So in truth I await nothing.
I simply hope, though I know not which way.
It is in the hand of Fate or hands of Fates,
Fickle creatures that they are.
But wash my hands clean do I.
Courses will take as they are meant to be taken.
At the least, the minimum,
I can at least proclaim my conscience clean.
Content I am, though I am not,
To wait, to allow paths to take as they must.
And in the end all will be as it should.
Comments