Courage

Sweet Beatrice is rooted to the earth in such an arresting way A magnetic pulse grounds her with singular authority And her charge is surging upwards and out Then cascading down so at odds with her fragility It is a disarming gift held in someone so young And so winsomely arranged And I search her motions In an attempt to find the primer To read all that she discloses Just short of calculating her mystery I hope to never uncover from afar with a view Until the distance rocks my body with gloom And I drift hollow through my days Blind to the world and all of its Treasures and betrayals And I know that she may be the only one To rescue me out of this If she were to somehow know And to find my affection for her ridiculous Oh but that would kill me But I will never have the courage to tell her I will never have the courage to tell her And she walks by and I must love suffering And she walks by and she walks by and I must love suffering I have decided I will not confess To these words fraught with urgency and longing I will hedge and I will deflect And talk of metaphor and broad stroking Before I give myself away Before I implicate my undoing It is nobody's business If I should hoard this sacred thing among my ruins And I cannot help but drink in all of her beauty As it is now peaking And so much about her So informs the graceful story I've been seeking And I, I thought I'd seen everything But I will never have the courage to tell her I will never have the courage to tell her And she walks by and I must love suffering And she walks by and she walks by and I must love suffering In the Witching Hour, in the night When the words descend like Manna from the throne And the pumping at the pedal And the lingering echo of my left hand drone I will go down into the pit And to the edge of any length Where lies the magic and the wit And the power to invent And I'm so grateful that she fell into my vision Just as she is, so winsomely arranged And I am working at a fevered pace now Just to transcend her And elevate her ways to a context of high art That will defend her And I, I pray that I am worthy of this But I will never have the courage to tell her I will never have the courage to tell her And she walks by and I must love suffering And she walks by and she walks by and I must love suffering Sweet Beatrice is rooted to the earth in such an arresting way A magnetic pulse grounds her with singular authority And her charge is surging upwards and out Then cascading down so at odds with her fragility It is a disarming gift held in someone so young And so winsomely arranged