Things are never as clear as we paint them,
A figure with no face,
A boat without a paddle,
A life without a love.

A fantasy never real,
An idea never true,
A feeling far away,
A thought distraught.

Close we say we'll be,
Far away we always stay,
An illusion of hope,
A translucent desire.

A hope, a want,
To have you near,
A fear, a worry,
To see you lose attentiveness.

Your lips read one thing,
Your actions say another,
Not quite sure how to say it,
Not quite sure what to do.

An empty heart,
A feeling of sorrow,
A thought removed,
An eye with a tear.


Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Letum, in the year 497 AD.