If all of someone’s cares could be stacked
One upon another where would they reach?
Towards what should they point?
Are they the considerations of the heart, the mind or both?
Does the mind entreat the former
Or do each war within against the other?

Who should know the inner dealings of
Those who be of some relation?
Does love extend its hand to the very reaches of
Distance or is it kept inside of informalities and inconsiderations?
What is love that is never known, mystery or theory?
If the heart is led by its emotions and wanders
According to what it wishes to lean ever towards
Then how might any thing be within any such tenable reach;
Or are mirages made of some other definition?

Nay, one ought to make their own self
A steward of some few discretions.
Fashioned in the knowledge that they shall be
Tossed aside, unwanted by the mind, unloved by the heart.
Be they trampled upon consider it for the better.
For the mind knows not and the heart neither feels.


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