The artist within
you sought to control.
You took offense to the ticking
of inner wheels, a mind wandering,
ways strange to society, in quotes,
as if embarrassed by your dad,
but worse.
You wouldn't allow the artist
his rainstorms, his snowball,
his youthful drunkenness,
flowers nor his trees.
Why should he give a fuck
if you didn't like such things?
Not like he was going to change,
or that he didn't see a purpose in all of it,
strange and sad as it may be,
and yet uplifting and true and necessary.
You had your eye for an eye,
a tooth for a tooth.
And where does that get you?
A child, I hope you're kinder to,
that you don't shun him for his crayons,
intent on making a junior misanthrope
to later bloom.
Well, we were kids back then.
You would control the subconscious,
and I needed
time.

Later, when you become wise, time sorts out what there was to it of real love that comes from dimensions higher than the ones we see. There was the illusion of love, versions of self-illusions, stories you tell yourself. With time and wisdom you finally see the parts of an affair that really were of love, the child-like, selfless, the long-suffering of Christ and Corinthians. Then you see, or try at least to see, that what you wanted for another is her happiness. You see the lesson behind nature, and learn also that you were for the lesson, and not so much ever capable of being the instrument of her happiness.

Anyone who loves well pleases the Gods, as they say. If one is an artist, he is an artist, and he paints a picture. One wants so badly for the male to find the female, as completion of a picture, but it is an interesting picture when boy loses girl. (Brilliant Russian movie by Grigory Chukrai, "Ballad of Soldier," for instance.)

It is the lesson of nature to show us the foolishness of the enchantments that come from following the illusory selves offered up by the egotistical "I"s within us.

Time, if it offers a lesson, if it lets us analyze ourselves, helps us understand the higher things, the nature of love beyond what is embarrassing to talk about.