I beg of my reader at this the beginning
To forgive the harsh rhetoric of poetics,
For I well enough know the pains of distilling
The intended significance of metaphor.
But this, I insist, should be taken to cure
The maladies that often antagonize souls
(As this, I insist, was for you alone writ).
And now, with your leave, I will challenge my wit
To convey what my tongue is not able to share.

The spirits of the blanketed sky once did stare
On a world filled with pain and infused with loathing.
I grew up in that world, when they all called me young,
And since now I'm grown older, I see it's begun
To mature into some vile spawn of Abraxas(1).
The past is constructed of death and of taxes,
And so people are left to incapable task:
To synthesize some sort of cynical meaning
(Which for them quite often is not meant to happen),
And so not quite uncommon is misery here.

But still there are those who will defy all their fare,
Who refuse to surrender, no matter the cost,
And these are the people we most quickly dismiss
On account of their cheery and positive air
(For in truth, it is suspect, an act for the Stage).
And this, I admit it, was the concept which waged
Full on lesser wars against reason and justice
Inside my very mind on a late Friday eve,
And which (almost) inclined my decision to be
To stay far, far away from that fortunate place.

(And this is, I am saddened to say, no disgrace,
For more often than not is the error in right.)

But the truth was not proper at that place that night,
And I swear there would sometimes thorough the place shine
A beacon of some hue unusual to me
(Though for truth, I admit, it was soon recognized),
And my mind was unburdened of its former fee.

But as fate would so have it, my mind overcame
That romantic perception, sublimed and estranged
From reality such as it certainly was.
My fate was then taken and enslaved by the flaws
Of the world in its former despicable state.
The air became leaden, and the hour grew late,
And I, overcome by the world's sinister sleight,
Retreated at once to a refuge of dreamscapes.

And thus in the blink of an eye I was awoken
By an unexpected knock at a distant door,
And ere my mind followed, unwittingly opened,
And suddenly sense was displaced altogether.
And I swear there did sudden thorough the place fly
That very same signal that previous moved me,
Which this time encountered with no opposition,
Directing me to follow you out to the sky.

It was thus I was moved to this nonsense begin
(Because so it must be, in want of good reason,
Which was still quite marooned behind that distant door),
And as we were seated, discussing the season
And all of the various things worth our banter
(Which were seemingly endless, and this no small matter),
I was then overcome by your sensible self.

The pitiful ranks of the world were defeated
By that second great day (which I mean I enjoyed
Quite more than I feel I have properly told you),
And thus (if I may be allowed the confession,
Such as it is, in the world's present condition),
I was happy.

And now, as each day passes by with a flutter
Of that same estranged fancy I twice ere beheld,
I am grateful to say my suspicions were right
(More grateful than these careless lines e'er can tell).

You should know when I leave here, I will not be gone;
Indeed, I was never removed from this place,
And now can imagine no single place better.
You had made this my home in but two days' good time,
And a home well befitting a dreamer like me.
For this I must thank you—impossible wonder
(As any who know me quite well will so ponder),
But more thanks now are owed you for being yourself,
Which is also so challenging this day in age,
And particularly painful more often than not.

But this to me certainly is not a new thought.
In trust, I’m annoyed at the point of departing
Not so much because of those sentiments told you,
But more on account of your cheerful persona.
My skill as a wordsmith is hurt here in parting
From truth in its awkward traditional senses
(For to tell it, I’ve grown quite addicted to you,
And this unforgivable verb in its tenses
Innumerably various, its contexts confused,
Was the bane of Helena and Demetrius too,
And besides many others, the House and the Stage).
I implore your forgiveness at this faulty sage,
Who digressions were herein required he sought,
Though important to have them, at least by the last.

Now something of a finish have I here begot,
And I must, by your leave, bring this all to a close,
Though I hope not an ending, as is fit for prose
And other peculiars of the Muse's design.
There will (I will have it) be a place and a time
For all of the fancies we have yet to declare.
And in the meantime, be good to yourself, and take care,
And please always remember some time and some way
To be happy.

(I must also confess: I began this before you asked me.)

7 August 2007

1. Abraxas is a demon of Gnostic origin, representing an abstract similar to God and Satan combined in a single entity.