I wooed the women with words I'd written.
Most ignored such fluff, but some were smitten.
Not with true me as such did they so swoon,
but what struck them their resonating tune.
Funny this what we deem and so perceive,
given just what inside does gnash and seethe.
The outside other--first and last apart.
Our world is mine, my own deceit's deft art.
Would be that in two we both one had made,
could greet and meet in Eden's peace sweet glade.
It is not to be for us, you nor me,
for me I am trapped, oh, on self same knee.
The world's out there, the universal rules:
Nature makes these our matches kind or cruel.
Illusions suffice when we're with others;
for want or need illudes one as tother.
That is as it is before each life starts.
Fate our mom wields the riddle--nature's part.
I can but blindly meet what's in your mind.
Know that's not me in there--that him is thine.
No salve nor 'Save us!' comes, this truth be told,
for we are as when young then and now grown old.
