Longing

‘Tis folly to think me sound and right,
when my thoughts compress while I’m lying at night,
of feelings of pain – a burning desire,
burning so hot – ‘tis sure to catch fire.
A road round which is not to be found
by the bottom of a bottle, or a pillow to pound.
‘Tis folly to think me happy an’ content,
for due to my longing, my heart is left wrent.

‘Tis norm to find me lacking in haste,
for such feelings have left effort in ruin and waste.
All of my life, love left me high and dry,
and many a night a prayer did I cry,
to God and His angels to find me my love,
to show me majesty in excess of his dove.
‘Tis norm to find me wept dry of tears,
no corner holds solace from many such years.

‘Tis pointless to comfort with cheer and jest,
since jest lost its laugh and bawl, its zest.
The warmth of humour both chills and burns,
‘til fate keeps kindness and my life does turn,
to show wondrous light and my loves embrace,
and a feeling brought down from a heavenly place.
‘Tis pointless to comfort in embrace or chore,
for only my true loves heart can let me soar.