Letter XVII

Beyond the single strokes of Fate,
with shrill & garish myriad causes,
& reasons not known back to Man;
I chant the hymn of your Love as I wait.
& between the silences—the pauses,
I pray to love you much as I can.

& in my wait, I journey on,
Accompanied—I, though I’m alone,
In search for the meaning of all,
between the folds of your soul
& the shades in your eyes.
Long lost—Long did I stroll,
Long have I longed to fall,
Incessantly into thine eyes.
As in the folds of my nights.
I find all mornings in disguise,
Into thine self as much as mine,
& in my fall—our fall; we taste a new divine,
as austere as a monk, as whimsical as wine,
as mundane as desire as sacred as a shrine.
as vivid as youth, as wise as senescence.

O you, O my intimations of innocence.
If I can write of the Love I owe,
& the day from whence all my Love to you began.
It’d take all papers—such quintessence.
Yet to brief that, one phrase do I know,
“In this Journey of Life, you’re my talisman.”


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