in me·mo·ri·am

I.
If I’m to know your heart,
why must I first experience your pain?
Why must the depth of your emotions be
vaguely equivelant to the height of my patience,
the might of my will,
the force of my heart? 

II.
What is this I’m feeling?
An emotion totally out of
focus and place with what
we’ve known so far?

I know that I’m falling
too fast, too far into
a space closely guarded
by your cautious mind. 

What to do but pull my heart
up by its somewhat stretched
cords and remind it of the pain
it has so recently known.

I’m not a prophet,
nor a seer. And I do
not want to cause myself
pain over wanting you.

So I will seek the safe
place, the firmer ground
and enclose me heart
yet again in wax.

III.
This is the end,
of a thing that’s never begun
except in the sphere that
is my heart.