It Must Be So
Sooth this irrational rage resplendent in its affliction
See through the foolish drawls that make up my surrounding core
Understand I see each flaw of mine in light of your brilliance
Not to compare yours to my worth as wretches do thrash in vain,
But to mold along your own tapestries,
And rightfully, in threads of gold, sustain
Oh, can it be as I request your stay,
That you are truly aware of the magic in your poetic sway
Of a life so drawn to the scaffolds of your welcoming mind
To see its dream, structure, and its whole, combined
It must be so, oh enthralling writer,
That we see through lenses reflecting all shimmers of might
Sifting and searching beneath all shades of blue
To find our reflections have touched surfaces we still yet discover
Within myself and you
And my love, it must be so,
That in your makings, your labors, your loves
I find myself not only nearer, but clearer,
As this budding rose no longer wavers in irksome winds of her doubt
Tremoring in such loathsome drawls birthed by some distant, parched earth
You, in your magic, cultivate and reward such growth
So that this rose ever rejoices her new mirth,
And with your sure, steadfast direction,
Out the very canals that gush your soul’s purpose
You seed her worth, feed her worth, and know her worth
Just as she worships yours
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