Bear with me as I shamelessly post further evidence of my incapacity as a literary genius. This time I have chosen to declassify stuff written many years ago. Two months into a relationship and she realises that the man she loved could not be found in the man that I was and called it off. And so I wrote. My favourite line in bold :)
Cruel fate tempts me with happy hopes
But leave me only with Clarity
Born of tragic experience.
From such is the mortar for cynical bricks formed.
I accept for now,
That sweet love shall not be our draught,
Rather to drink the bitter medicine of life's lessons
Or to take refuge in the heady mead of merriment and forgetful toil
Hold not our tongue from tasting the bitter
Pledge thus to learn much from this episode
And faintly hope that it will steer our hearts
Towards gentler seas and safer harbors
For to love true and to love deep
Requires of us courage that exceeds Reason's realms
But let no one say 'coward'
Or even cast a shadow on my earnest
You that have checked my resolve
For you accept none safe
that which costs nothing
that which is packaged conveniently
that which is already shaped and honed
Know that even for friends
The genius of our age have failed
To produce them made-to-order
For in the good book, it spells clear
That a friend sharpens another
Even as iron sharpens iron
That love is foremost patient
Even as the Lord is patient
In the shaping of our lives
That perfection is a goal attained by love
Not a requirement thereof
Surely many fail at this awesome venture
Not for lack of compatibility
But of attempt
So many stop at the foot of the Mountain
Consorting with cowardly Despair
Instead of being counted with noble Courage
Do you seek the broad and easy path to love?
Fortuitous are those that find such a way
But pity them that know not
The true worth of the treasure they have
Grow wise, dear heart
For all my earnest desiring
And all the courage that love may lend me
Shall not overcome the clarity
That I am but two short months known to you
Yet in this time, that for which you had affection
Was merely an illusion
And the contrasting truth prompts you to hope
That the next will be more perfectly matched
In illusion and reality.
You desire an orchard of sweet apples
But give no time for it to grow from an ugly discarded core
Even a farmer lovingly and patiently tends his fields
Knowing well that they will not always be full of weeds and rocks.
Grow wise, sweet love
And learn that the dearest in life
Are rarely chanced upon
But oft are the result of loving toil
