So many windows—so little time.
It’s only glass—stands in-between;
Separating known, to dream;
Forsaking wish as if unseen;
Fragile pane of vision clean;
Bisecting loves I have gleaned,
Without permission, without means.
Yet should I force upon this pane,
Would I project a right to reign;
Above duty, for passions feigned;
Compromising all that’s gained;
With only but myself to blame,
Betray that one, desires un-named?
‘Tis prudent, then, to leave to chance;
Of those who’ll choose a different dance;
In spite of how sincere I prance;
(Ignoring yet, her awkward glance);
Leaving love to happenstance;
In faith of said existence.
Full of heart, weak in wisdom;
Sounds of shatter mark my decision;
And my cause becomes my vision,
While shards inflict their lonesome lesion,
Amidst the flow of liquid crimson;
For I’ll not live such life in fission.
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