Sweet Prince, I’m up tonight
wondering where you are,
How we got here,
And what’s to come.
I’m suffocating under the heavy silent blanket of
darkness and absence -
A condition worse than death
Because of the dangled hope
In which I have no faith.
Are you well? Are you fed?
What fills up your hours in your distant turret?
The questions approach the infinite.
My repentance was never enough
My love was never believed,
And in my shadowy eclipsed thoughts,
I fear that I was the fool
to think that your love ever was.
And yet.
And yet.
Come back, call me forth,
Drop a crumb for this manged and matted mutt.
Anything, something.
Send me to hell,
call me to your princely court,
Acknowledge that I exist
And I shall be martyred in profound joy.
But now I beg for the end of this clouded exile.
