My intention is pure,
As pure as the mist on clover in the morning.
And my heart desires purity in your life,
As well.
But I cannot see beyond
The veil of deception that you have woven,
And so I begin to mistrust myself,
And I wonder if my motives remain pure,
But I know myself,
And they are,
And I know that you can see it too.

So we are at an impasse,
You and I,
For the authority is yours,
For as far as it pertains to you.
And my pure intentions matter not,
Except to me,
For whom they matter a great deal.
But it is not I who has moved into the gray of twilight,
And your aura is waning,
Not by any universal imperative,
But by a surrender
That I thought I would never see.

I know pain.
I know pain like unto few others,
And I am a companion
To fear.
Surrender seduces me each morning,
As I will my limbs to bear my weight.
Were it only me,
I would succumb.
But it is not only me,
And for now the life force of those
Who depend on me is immature.
I must survive!
I must survive so they will know how.

Your web is beautiful,
In its elaborate intricacy,
Where all corners are covered.
Passer-by in your life marvel,
For it is pure art.
And the grace of its construction
Has drawn observers far and wide
In your time.
But there is a flaw,
That I lament sharing with you,
But survival is on the line,
As I hearken an ear
To an avalanche forecasting itself;
But your web is transparent,
And all can see,
And all know the will of your heart,
And suspect the machinations
Of your soul,
And they wonder,
How indeed will I survive.

We suspect that we are insignificant,
Even in our haughty souls,
For it is we, we surmise,
Who know ourselves best.
But it is the Creator only,
Who knows that which we have forgotten
Of ourselves,
And it is He who calls for us to survive.
For we are on a continuum,
And future glory must be built
On firm foundation,
Lest all that we have wrought,
Should become bankrupt
In our sudden surrender.