A Fool Adrift
God forbid it should be true
When we believe that we are due.
I enjoy my selfishness without guilt
And play the cards that I am dealt.
What Fool would sell their own desire
Or buy the same and thus conspire?
Freedom is the only essence
The truest perfume truly pleasant.
This life we live upon this ocean,
This time on which we float in motion,
For we a solid surface lack
To wander ever, there and back.
No man an island, never was;
We have no roots, no purpose, cause.
There is but this: this day, this hour,
This minute, moment, sweet and sour,
The beat of your heart upon my cheek:
My love, your love I cannot seek.
For it is nowhere, not a thing,
It has not width and breadth, nothing,
It cannot taste and cannot try,
It cannot live and cannot die.
It but this: a gift, or naught,
Inside your eyes, your soul a draught
From which I could not drink if offered
No matter what my thirst has wanted.
Let not my eyes define your choice,
Let nothing speak but your true voice,
For you I would but cage and carry,
Linger here and ever tarry,
For I am Foolish and desire
Your naked, restless body's fire;
Yet on this ocean we are drifting
Drenched and quenched by time, uplifting,
Changing all that was and is
And all that ever comes to pass.
Leave, my love, do not return;
Do not leave your dreams undone.
Do not be as me, a Fool,
So selfishly adrift in you.
