I find you in such hidden forests
(saved by kings from stolen times)
and among these humble dwellings we strew passion
under a leafy kaleidoscope sky in a kindly sheltered spring.

Asking only for your honor
I lay myself before you
(unsolicited kindling)
knowing someday you will return
to these places we must keep our silences,
to these days of bartered lies.
I offer only simplest me,
already condemned,
not by my peers, but by this past,
a charter of a life misunderstood.
The bits I freely give to you,
without guile, without farce,
I lay on open hand;
yet in the other
hold the memories of the life
I chose by mind, but not by heart...
(how I wonder why we spend such silly silence
trapping truths instead of lies,
for to lie would be more honest.) 

We are granted here a palace, you and I,
in simple form with ample grace,
where you rest in listless splendor
no less my weakness than my strength. 

I will someday bend, and mourn my life
and the wind will weep its moanly tears,
while the softly baubled sun in kindly sheltered time
will find its resting place...
and there this faithful love of mine and I shall rest forever,
in a darkness no less bright. 

(And when we ask,
and when we bend
there is a sun no more.
I shall always be the moon.)