’tis a truth thy know full well,
that love’s not absent of it’s mind,
or blind, to that which poorly you disguised –
indeed pretence was spotted long ago;
hide not from love, that loves you even so –
and knows the sacred beat of thy dear heart,
and knows it still.
that ill fitting mask you wear,
that oft was dropped when fear of loss
commanded you to reassure – it never hid you well;
but well i know
that half hidden meant half seen;
and oft pursued –
with hope of keeping, what anger sought to lose.
anger is the ice that kept him cold enough
to stay away;
you never wore ice well – feign not the bitter frost
that held him sway.
For you are not so lost, and my years will tell
of all the love you give and give again;
for those who love you now, will love you then.