Perhaps the poet in me rages, but in stages, I have sown–
I have planted the seed, I have seen it flower,
betting my only life
on love’s transcendent power.
I am asked to explain and to give you answers.
My heart steadfast all the while,
wanting solitary seclusion,
yet in my eyes the verse is spoken:

I need love to visit me in this dualistic and valueless place,
to snatch me unaware and to spare me from its hopeless cares.
For while I do try to manage on my own,
I desire to spend my desire with a person in the crowd all alone.
I long for the project to devote to one who is real but is broken.
I long to dream together, for dreaming on my own is lonely and does not fulfill.
While the plea is clearly in me,
and the prayer for light no lie,
I ask from Time all these things,
and yet it does not yield, nor yet will abide.

And so, the poet in me rages,
and in stages, I sow.
The seed is planted.
The harvester awaits the flower.
The sun is hot; the ground is dry,
And yet I wait for love’s transcendent power.