Wednesday, January 16, 2013

I Would Write...

I would write you a love song,
the thing only a man can do
to show he's right by God,
and you'd decline politely
to accept it, with your infinite
grace and mysterious tact,
for that is what you do
to keep the magic circle fires
encendered, the not-quite
turned to unrequited,
the quenched revived to dry
like butterflies to chrysalises again.

I would write you a love song
but there is no love that's left in you
to steal, no passion to pretend
it isn't mine. We walked as one
through everything connected
to find the other gone
along some smoky bend,
not knowing our reflection
from ourselves,
never learning how to feel
except as another feels.

I would write you a love song
but the finest troubadours
do not let any one before their longing
for love is in the tuning of the strings,
that blue and subtle point they can't,
the breathless throng, abide to wait for
and in their great impatience, can never hear,
for the note is meant for me alone,
the purity of my own and only being,
the sound that echoes endlessly inside.