Ana

Anaël's Waxen Pulse

*And thus he begged forget me not
But time passed on and she forgot...*

on the loneliest of evenings
may *you* read this, all alone
when the emptiest of emptiness
is dearly called your own

and fervently beseeching you
to call to mind but once
that poets often declare love
--like war-- on many fronts
a game of war quite suited for
the dearest things we won't adore
the darkest things we can't obscure
the saddest things we must endure
with words of hope we wish meant more

and on the loneliest of nights
may you call to mind my sins
forgotten faults and failings
and those wretched "might-have-been's"

remember in your bleakest hour
when Fate claims yours the weakest tower
when day seems drear, and night, more dour
remember there is one somewhere
who would suffer in your stead
--gladly-- just to tell you once
(and declare love on many fronts)
the words he should have said

"should have said" could have led
to so much more than this
a simple word, and how absurd
to think it rhymes with bliss...

l