Lack of You and Me

I wish to cry this disconnect, the lack of you and me,
The weariness of loneliness, and guilt of this salt sea.
And as I walk so sluggishly, aware of Beauty's draw,
I wonder at my own eyesight, and women with their claw.
I gawk, I stare, I drink it in with eyes of tears unshed.
The dryness of my emptiness is dust when I am bled.
I know not even who they are, nor would I want to know,
But still in this there is a pain, a hole that still does grow.
I lack the thing they do not own, and praise what they can't hold,
And still we search most desperately for Beauty as if gold.
What secret now does Wisdom keep? With her what can be found?
Beauty is a passing thing, but Wisdom stays around.
What part of You is in her breast? Where are You in her face?
What can I yet learn of You in lips, her hair, her grace?
I close my eyes, yet open them. I know not what to do.
In her, I see perfection. In her, I'm glimpsing You.
But in all this I am a man, and so I do her wrong.
The universe was made like her: with words and more: a song.
In Heaven we don't marry, and this may be because
Here on earth is envy, but there nobody does.
What we can do imperfectly with one, a single bride,
Is there redone eternally with God there by our side.


A Deference to Difference

A deference to difference I doubt I can maintain,
Especially when everything is every way insane.
'What am I to do with you?' The thought is answered not,
Like all the many rationals and other answers got.
I try my best to rest, sort of, in humble peace in vain,
For all the reasons given here, and more, this is my bane.
'So flippantly he holds himself, and others in contempt,
'And yet he bids us respect him, for fate we must not tempt.
'He rants about a many thing, and then he shows he's wrong.
'He loads us down with other things, and more and for a song.'

An inference from insolence is that I am indeed
Just a meager, minor mind, in need of being freed,
For how could I have come upon a rule broken by time?
There is no way to end on top unless you start to climb.
'But what if I were to succeed in superseding waste?
'Could it be that ignorance reveals a truer taste?
'What about the other ones who break and fake this too?
'Could it be that you are wrong? I need to know what's true.'
And yet it is repeated more; what's more, it's said again:
“Others know the better way.” I say, “That's where I've been.”

Perhaps, perchance you could persuade that I perceive in err,
But certainly it can not be completely all unfair.
I must confess some bitterness, and praise for this and that,
But in the end the all of it is nothing but a gnat.
So convince me, if you can, of course, and correct me when I'm wrong,
But don't you dare look down on me as if I don't belong.
I am too young to give this up, too old to be walked on,
And so I pose a conundrum; a checking, queening, Pawn.
So “off with you, and with your head”, and other things like so.
I've spent enough of this lost night, and so to bed I go.