The Letter That Changes Everything
This letter may serve as a new beginning, or foretell a tragic end-
Yet, the thought of not writing it is not one with which I may contend!
My prayers are for the former, as I dread the latter,
Though my soul yearns to have the final say in the matter
Of what form its counterpoint may finally take;
Thus, with this leap of faith, I may finally make-
Known, what it is I suspect you have already guessed:
Your's is the soul that mine covets more than all the rest!
This though, I shan't allow to come at my heart's expense,
Where its own longing does not meet with recompense.
No longer may I be your friend, and naught more;
At the end of each consort, I am left to wonder: 'what more
Are we meant to be? '-certainly not just surreptitious friends.
Is my heart to wither, whilst my mind pretends?
No! I am not blind to your amorous reciprocation
Of the feelings I have for your, and their desperation!
Your precarious position is not lost upon me-
I know it all too well, as its cost, upon me-
Tolls deeply and tragically-yet, I am much to blame!
My feelings, as your's, are much the same
As they were so many years ago-
The difference: I commanded my fears to go!
Without the burden of same, doubts no longer linger.
I may now count myself worthy, to place upon your finger
The quintessential token of my commitment to you-
Though, through forfeit I lost, and the forfeit went to you,
In the form of a life that you have deftly built.
For my part, my love's perpetual flower did not wilt,
She is more alive today than she ever was-
Incapable of surrender's preservation-she never does!
Our collective inconvenience does not cause our love's retreat;
Not even a cosmic cataclism should cause it to fleet,
First from our sight, then from the safe confines of our heart's coffers,
Thus taking with it all the beautificence it heretofore offers!
This thought is banished, and all like it, disallowed;
This shall never be, and all talk of such is disavowed!
Whether you allow our souls to ally, only time may tell-
If not though, you owe it to thine own heart to pray tell
Why not, in the face of all the love for each we possess-
The answer: fear, would need be my only guess!
Our friendship is precious to me, as is the love, long ago born-
The more we celebrate the former, the more I mourn
The latter-a sort of dichotomy, where love's scorn
Is also the glory of the heart, which both doth adorn!
The mere thought that my own social immaturity
Is ultimately to blame for my amorous insecurity
Is nearly too much to take, but I must!
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poem by Maurice Harris
Added by Poetry Lover
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