38

My honest words are spent on ears that seem
To turn and turn away as seconds pass
From hours to days and silent weeks. I dream
Through clouded nights and look by twisted glass.
I should not hold my hopes too high or look
Too long into her eyes, whose gazes turn.
She walks her life in peace, between the crook
Of silence borne from speech. I do not learn
To hide enamored hopes. I sit and think: 
If I had courage, strength, or wisdom here
I'd find her hand in spite of fear and drink
Away my fruitless thoughts with love found near.
But I know I will never find this joy;
Such is reserved for men, I am a boy.