December 11th, 2003

If I told you I was a wanderer,
will your hand stay in mine;
Or will you bind your heart to another?
If I told you I was a dreamer,
cursed to spend the rest of my life
above the clouds, dwelling on my illusions,
bordering on my self-made delusions;
will you go away?
If I told you I would rather be a poet;
my heart at the tip of my pen.
my scribbles speaking of my soul;
the entire world on my weary shoulders;
will you leave me for the prince,
his heart hidden behind his mounds of gold?
I am but the scribe.
And your beauty deserves that of kings.
And each day I spend with you
makes me feel even more unworthy.
Even more inadequate.