A Missive For Yul

Child, when you begin to remember, whose memory Do you remember best? Is the one told to you by bias Art, and reinforced by a contentious history? Is it the one imagined while we are apart, the pale Judas Of all grieving heart? Or did you take time to scan The logic in your head again, the silver in your hand Before you plait my crown of thorns, or exiled me To drink the hemlock drops squeezed from insecurity? I have some blame, for justice cannot deny my sin But when to priest ot Pharisee you render praise Scroll for my motives, read the simple schema within Look at my life, see what was doled to me. My ways My dear was a mocking, scourging path to tread And all for the love that alienated me. Heaven made A dark cloud of no greater, and more terrible dread Than the heart in which sweet adoration petals fade. The flowers fall, and the brambled thorns left behind I wear with stoic grace. Praying for you each scentless Day, the rope will rot before your soft, sightless mind And the measure of my worth without wan bitterness Will be the soul's desire to love, promised intention Unspoken while stammering crowds howl their madness Baying at a serene moon. Jealousy is pride's invention Truth wears humility in the saged silence of its sadness.