TO THE BARD OF THEATRICAL YEARNING

To Mr. Michael, Bard of Theatrical Yearning, Your words, like ivy, wind and wind — ornate, impassioned, almost divine.?But I write now with a quieter pen, one that bleeds not drama but truth again. You call me complacent — a muse asleep??Dear sir, I have only grown quiet to keep?From drowning in tides too high, too fast,?Where your feelings arrive dressed in velvet and masks. I do not miss the romance, oh no —?I see it in spades in your letter’s flow.?Your charm, your wit, your desperate fire?Could set a room — or a theater — entire?Ablaze with sighs. But is it me you seek??Or the thrill of the line, the applause you tweak? You jest and gesture, you pine and pose,?With metaphors grand and poetic throes.?Yet when I crave the man, not the play,?You vanish behind the roles you portray. I’ve not been unmoved — I’ve been overwhelmed,?As if love were a ship, and you at the helm?Would rather paint storms than steer us home,?Sailing in circles through froth and foam. I do not need sonnets or grand design —?Just you — uncostumed, unpolished, plain-spine.?Tell me your fears, not your fables or plays.?Let’s talk like two souls who’ve walked real days. I treasure your heart, your laughter, your flame,?But love is not born of performance or fame.?It’s patience. It’s presence. It’s pause and breath —?Not a whirlwind courtship staged near death. So here I am, not lost, nor cold —?But tired of tales so lush and bold?They leave no room for quiet truth.?I do not need a knight in youth,?But a partner who can sit and stay —?Not just enchant, then flit away. If you wish a union, as you say you do,?Meet me not in sonnets — but simply in you. Yours in thought,? Ms. Crane Note: This is a sequel to “December 3, 2000” by a dear poetic friend. Please go check out his wonderful poem for context.