Flattered by that dark silhouette,
Warned by that glory, so enchanting,
Temptation held void,
For that many cries muffled inside.
The rain for once, would stop lashing,
If I would let the sun come down,
But those clouds would never cease to conspire,
For many of those questions unasked.
But the mist would gather nonetheless.
Gather around the burgeoning burden.
The insurmountable weight of mystery.
And the possibility of a light in the darkness.
This is something I would strive for.
If that be my life's last goal.
But my hope grows feeble as the days wane on.
And my road grows coarse as I remain morose.
If not for that grief-stricken haplessness,
If not for those rosebuds left ungathered on that muddy path,
Would you but understand that road only once visited in crude imagination?
Would you but know if not for immodesty?
The gaudiness of beauty sometimes fails,
To waver that thought pinned onto hope,
All of which transformed into the kind that elucidates unrecognizable faith,
And with that mystery left undiscovered,
The best secrets are best left untold,
To count on that very allure of their nature.
And that is why as I walk on, never weary at heart.
I realize that the decrepit road can be polished new.
All it needs is nurture and some patience.
All I can give is that asked and a little more.
Hope may waver but I may not.
My road holds me steadfast to my ground.
The secrets of the path in front to be discovered.
As time passes on, as we age together.
Like the countenance of wine with age.
So shall you and I and we together.
Age together and pass on our secrets.
So the mystery of love be cherished.
And the secrets passed on after we pass away.
Warned by that glory, so enchanting,
Temptation held void,
For that many cries muffled inside.
The rain for once, would stop lashing,
If I would let the sun come down,
But those clouds would never cease to conspire,
For many of those questions unasked.
But the mist would gather nonetheless.
Gather around the burgeoning burden.
The insurmountable weight of mystery.
And the possibility of a light in the darkness.
This is something I would strive for.
If that be my life's last goal.
But my hope grows feeble as the days wane on.
And my road grows coarse as I remain morose.
If not for that grief-stricken haplessness,
If not for those rosebuds left ungathered on that muddy path,
Would you but understand that road only once visited in crude imagination?
Would you but know if not for immodesty?
The gaudiness of beauty sometimes fails,
To waver that thought pinned onto hope,
All of which transformed into the kind that elucidates unrecognizable faith,
And with that mystery left undiscovered,
The best secrets are best left untold,
To count on that very allure of their nature.
And that is why as I walk on, never weary at heart.
I realize that the decrepit road can be polished new.
All it needs is nurture and some patience.
All I can give is that asked and a little more.
Hope may waver but I may not.
My road holds me steadfast to my ground.
The secrets of the path in front to be discovered.
As time passes on, as we age together.
Like the countenance of wine with age.
So shall you and I and we together.
Age together and pass on our secrets.
So the mystery of love be cherished.
And the secrets passed on after we pass away.
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| 'One fine wine' by Jennifer Main |
