Of all the glories of this mortal life,
Above all I treasure my precious wife.
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What am but a frail and broken man?
Wandering alone, and failing once again?
But your love, my love, it does not reciprocate my lack.
My heart, my love, is split in many ways,
From coins to gold they occupy my days,
Yet my heart knows, they cannot reciprocate my love.
Your love, my love, it is new each every day,
You pursue and love despite all my mistakes,
Your love, my love, it always reciprocates my love.
My life is short and will be over soon,
And then what will my legacy presume?
Let me love, my love, let me please reciprocate your love.
Late, at night, conversations just ended.
Alone, tired, time appears suspended.
Browsing, on my phone, desiring more connection.
Now, I feel it, all I want, is affection.
As I sit here, without a want, a care, no pressure
I feel peace, contentment, and lesser
Responsibility than I have felt since I was a child,
When happiness was real, and the world was still wild.
But my heart was tamed, by myths and deadlines,
My loves were misguided, and my mind intertwined,
By a barage of untamable thoughts,
False assumptions, rules and oughts.
They choked out my life, that pure and innocent child,
Who lost himself, and what it meant to be wild.
Free me, O God, to freely your image bear.
That my life would be filled with love, and that to live I might dare.
Happiness is found,
not in comfort,
not in pleasure,
not in riches.
For all these I have had in bitter anguish.
not in distraction,
not in amusement,
not in addiction.
For in constant busyness our hearts languish.
not in security,
not in possessions,
not in position.
For all can fail without warning or whim.
not in recognition,
not in praise,
not in adoration.
For fickle and feckless is the love of men.
Where then can we find the one thing for which we all long?
I am afraid the easy answers, though ubiquitous, are wrong.
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