It Must Be So

Sooth this irrational rage resplendent in its affliction See through the foolish drawls that make up my surrounding core Understand I see each flaw of mine in light of your brilliance Not to compare yours to my worth as wretches do thrash in vain, But to mold along your own tapestries, And rightfully, in threads of gold, sustain Oh, can it be as I request your stay, That you are truly aware of the magic in your poetic sway Of a life so drawn to the scaffolds of your welcoming mind To see its dream, structure, and its whole, combined It must be so, oh enthralling writer, That we see through lenses reflecting all shimmers of might Sifting and searching beneath all shades of blue To find our reflections have touched surfaces we still yet discover Within myself and you And my love, it must be so, That in your makings, your labors, your loves I find myself not only nearer, but clearer, As this budding rose no longer wavers in irksome winds of her doubt Tremoring in such loathsome drawls birthed by some distant, parched earth You, in your magic, cultivate and reward such growth So that this rose ever rejoices her new mirth, And with your sure, steadfast direction, Out the very canals that gush your soul’s purpose You seed her worth, feed her worth, and know her worth Just as she worships yours