Could I walk away
With anything other
Than the hope that you may
Follow me in bother?
For I feel hard done
Your distance a gulf
So small to be none
But to the eyes of a wolf
No distance is greater
Than an inch that cannot
Be bridged by the waiter
The broken besot.
I wait patient to the Fates.

I am praying for the revelation
Of love and its chains.
I am not proud nor even perhaps sane
By madness deranged
And tempted to games

Do not puff up
Do not shrink your
Sacred ground’s enough
To fill hell’s blinkers
With patience patient
To the uprooted beat
Of a heart face to facing
Atlas’s feet.

So I will wait
And take what crumbs
An imperfect world waits
On those who have none
I will not be greedy
As my games want to be
But I will wait in the middle
As my heart’s cracks bleed
On love’s little riddles.

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