Against all my heart has loved
I hold a difference and a debt;
Across the low range of regret,
I walk a long-legged gratitude.
Above the simplest platitude,
Below the paramount praise,
Between all mirth and malaise,
I’ve been neither glutted nor gaunt.
I’m but an idiot savant,
Having held truth not knowing it,
Earning and then blowing it—
All pennies to a pauper gone.
But I don’t listen for the swan;
She sings not for my tomorrow.
I ramble light for heavy sorrow,
Another pike to press upon.
From the very void I look on
To the Juliet I’ve yet to find,
To whom all fallen fates I might bind
The learned best of why I am.
Poetry: Lies And Lilies