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We, too, have tried and, in succeeding, failed:
again to strive while ego yet compels –
that tortured form, our resolution, nailed
upon the cross of our ideals – in silent hells
to walk alone: or, being loved, lose all
to Kismet; ineluctable thro’ age-old trait
of human blindness or the spinning ball
in life’s roulette, that seals our fate.
We, too, have cherished seeds of friendship cast
upon the tilth of our emotions – poured
the wishful-thought elixir ’til they fast
became the flowers of undying love; adoring and adored.
And now bereft of hope, affection spent, we know
a partnership in tears with Lucy Snowe.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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