Meeting

As I turn my face to meet the world,

the world meets me and I, with glorious bewilderment,

turn away. I cannot meet my demise,

my master, with equal eyes. Mine eyes are only

two shivering beads, nothing more than a passing

confection; the world looks upon me with eyes that

fiercely dance across the sky, mystic warriors

coming to take me away, to damn me and my

selfish existance.

The world looks at me and I 

turn away.

I cannot meet its eyes. I am afraid of its sharp thunder,

its lit wildfire in the speck of night

It does not have a name. It speaks to me,

tells me 'it is because I love you that you turn away;

you are ashamed to look into my eyes and be

honest, selfless, independent - 

but more than that you are human, and it is

because I love you that I accept your faults.

I am not angry for your insolent nature,

for the way you wander through the woods like a

spritely nymph of old. Whore you are not,

but a vessel of importance. Your voice

defines you, not your body.'

I say 'it is because I love you that

I am afraid to look at you and tell you

I have failed you -

have I not been unfaithful to your

incomparible beauty, your inconsolable passion

for you to have accepted me so instantaneously;

has my confession freed me from your oppression

that I have only just realized?

 Maybe it is because I love you that I can speak so

insolently; it is because I love you that 

I turn away from you, not because I am

honestly ashamed nor afraid. I can only be

allowed freedom from you in able to love

you eternally.

You destroy, me, because you love me.

Because I love you, I neglect you.

Because I love myself, I leave you.