"You were once my lover, and now my goddess. My mind flourishes in your memory and worships the thought of you, but where can I draw a line? It would appear that my thoughts, so susceptible to hope, have given you an image that I know not how to defy.

Was I the fool? Was I to blame, not for my behaviour, but for my behavioural thought, being in such bliss in ignorance to believe that a mutual infatuation was untouchable? To believe that what I so readily called 'love' could ne'er be trodden upon? Nay, this was no folly. Time seems to trod ever more slowly, but is joined by footprints left here in this soil'ed earth. Could this be the end, or merely but an interlude?

I am no fool.

How could this day have come? Is this the end of a tome, or end of a chapter?
After, a long-too-lasting moment motioned towards a bitter laughter.
Could it be? I see a victory in waves of mystery washed away.
Glorious tide, from whence are thee divided by a whisper or a condemnation here of naught but fear of the unknown?
Yet known.

Lamentations cried to the heavens,
My goddess, won’t you hear me?
One but simple mind in an ocean of endless, simple beings?

What of this am I to see? Perhaps the parting of the sea remains to be naught but an unseen indication of a vindication from a prison in my selfish and hopelessly chained mind. Yet, like the philosophers of old have yet foretold, this unwarranted sign and simple unbinding comes at the cost of an unwanted release. Cuffs, bindings, chains that restrained me down, not only in a physical but a mental and emotional state, unlocked. Has it been so long? Was I, in truth, in such a state of disconnect and discontent that I had yet lost what it meant to be oneself? Is this freedom, is this paradise? Nay, this is but exile. Was I to blame? For my behaviour, my transgression it was not.

How could you expect a broken man to know what it is to be whole, despite a tainted soul?
Alive, but making peace through a dissonant melody.
Besides, who were you to put a bandage on me?
How could you think someone such as I would know what it means to be loved if you were all I had?

And I relied on you to be the transcendence to my melody.

Listen. Can you hear the call of thunder cursing your name?
Listen. Can you hear the voice of water condemning your name?

“Drown,” it says in a voice of arrogance and pity, lost in a sense of betrayal against its goddess, “the light from this present sun shines not into the depths.”

Lover of all, or lover of one?
Lover of all, or lover of none?
Would you (or could you?) give up of yourself the sake of this song?
Lover of all, lover of one
Lover of all, or lover of none?
Would you (dear, could you?) give up of yourself the sake of this all?

Look upon the nature of the earth, and my lover, tell me wherein is there an end? Gaze upon the majesty of the earth, for it speaks of celestiality, and its speech tells not of you. The skies proclaim a splendor of a heaven that welcomes not you home.

My angel, fallen in nature, esteemed in perceived glory,
holy, thou still? Can you see, or dost thou believe?

The light, a reflection on the shimmering waters of an ever-moving sea, shines not on thee.
The dark, yet unseen in its mystery, consumest thee.

Thy ears, oh my angel, are deaf to pleading cries
And thy arms of divinity are closed to pleading hearts
The outcries, won’t you hear them? They call for one last gaze
This heart, can you feel it? Its affection slowly fades

Mystery of ages, unanswered question of old.
Mystery of ages, in truth were you so cold?

“Make peace in empathy, found in this soft release
Darling, can’t you see, see the tide recede?”

I see but sympathy. Naught but a crashing sea
Is this what’s come to be? My lover, set me free.

“Lover, tune your ear to the melody in the air”

Perhaps melody truly is but a modicum of a medium by which stories are told, and messages shared. But message brings not peace of mind, nay, indeed such soft and sweet melody brings but stronger memories of a fonder time in which ‘you and I’ meant you and I, and dear, stronger memories of you and I is but torment to the mind's eye. So bring not a tune to my ear and masquerade an idea of peace wherein this here portrayed is deceit, for your former has grown but warmer, forged in fire of an incessant desire of a destination that now cannot be reached.

This, my lover, is what it means to see hope lost. And beg as I may to see you stay, there is but no word, nor change in my being that might convince you to settle amidst the fray.

In this daunting revelation and time of self-reflection, may I ask what is to come of me? Perhaps a growth in maturity is what remains to be. In this I know that the rock on which we stood was built of rotting wood, not of stone, for maturation would else have been a destination sought by both, wrought by both, not brought by one.

And so is this freedom? I know not of paradise, but I see not exile, and darling I speak of an unbinding when my mind sought an aisle. So perhaps this was meant to be, but fate is lost to me, so what I see in front of me is all I dare to believe. So, my lover, I beg of thee to hear thy voice but once again, I find not peace in reminiscing of then, but if to say goodbye, I yearn to hear from thee a better end.

“This heart sings for you but beats not in rhythm with you”

Fool.
Is this the self that I wrought in esteem?
Undeserving of all that I see, was I so vain to believe in thee?
Undefeated as the tide recedes.

Behold the untold stronghold of old

Indeed, is this what it means to gaze upon the face of mystery?
Unknown, everpresent, and forever challenging the depths of the mind.
For within this fortress, I cling to the last decaying rays of light found within hope, but hope’s light but merely illuminates that of which the lamenters wrote, and I am trapped within this stronghold, and these present rays of light but shine through locked, barred windows.

Free us
Bring us home

For thee but I call
Listen to my heart, hear how the beat fades but away

Mystery is as much a punishment to me as fear of loneliness could ever be
In this I know to believe that what I had hoped to mean was more than I would ever be
Was more than I would ever grow to be

At least to thee

Forgive me
My lover, my angel, my goddess of all that I see
Hear of me the lamentation of all my transgressions. Forgiveness I seek of thee.

My dear, as metaphorically our journey winds to a close, I know not what is left for me but to offer a pretentious apology, though I speak softly with words laced in animosity. All of this aimed at thee, and none of it meant to be for this is but a therapy, a fire for me to soon believe that I, in truth, have more to be. My words scream of flame while my thoughts burn of remorse, so can you bring of yourself a forgiveness of me? Unnecessarily, I seek from thee a piece of me that long ago was tossed to sea. A peace, found within an epiphany that I have yet to see.

Lamentations cried to the heavens.
My goddess, won’t you hear me?
One but simple mind in an ocean of endless, simple beings?

This of necessity, my heart renounces thee
If to make peace with thee, my lover, set me free.

Thy ears, oh my angel, are deaf to pleading cries
And thy arms of divinity are closed to pleading hearts
The outcries, won’t you hear them? They call for one last gaze
This heart, can you feel it? Its affection slowly fades

There are times in which I struggle with the idea that we will never see the sights we saw the same, and it's those days in which I wonder if it was you or I to blame.

But why should these thoughts torment me so? To come to grips with my own selfish immaturity, and to realize that I was so naive to believe in 'forever', nay, these were thoughts of betrayal, not of mourning. To embark on a journey in which our voyage had no destination, no, merely a path to some unforeseeable end? My former lover, this was what we called eternal.

Was my time but wasted?

In this vein of thought, I have faced the only conclusion I have left: This, my journey, cannot end here.
There is only harm to be caused in believing that I could have convinced you to stay aboard this passing ship. I owe you my thanks and my gratitude for showing me the affection I desired, but I cannot make you stay, and my dear, it's with a measure of sorrow that I've begun to believe that to stay would be to embrace a decay.

I am more than the rotting wood on which I stood."