I am an onion,
Layer upon layer there
Is of me,
And none of these
So readily revealed
To casual scrutiny,

Oh  no you must work
And work hard to
Learn each layer,
Reveal every closely guarded
Aspect of my being
Or my soul

But dig hard enough,
Dig deep enough
And with a sharp enough blade,
And with dedication
You may just see
That which I may choose you to

The butler falls for the princess
As much as the Lord ever falls for the maid,
And even from his inferior role
Might feel
Albeit briefly and in error
Like a master of the palace,
When his princess fawns upon him
And lies beneath,
All alabaster perfection and
Perfume and passion,

Yet when all is done and said,
Whether in or on,
Even under the bed,
He's still the butler,
She's still better made,
She will never be his
No matter his dreams
Aspirations or hopes,
Or what with her legs spread
She said,

Because she is a princess,
She has no thought of
Love for a lower form such as he,
He scratches an itch to be sure
Which left un relieved might
Be sore,
But her parts and her heart are
Both bound towards someone more,
Much finer,
Far richer
Much better,
Than he.

This fool is not dressed
In colourful rags
With bells at his toes
And the horns of a ridiculous hat

This fool does not cavort
For the applause of a court,
No tumbling or bumbling
For applause,

This fool stands aghast
Seeing in its awful scale
The enormity of his folly,
The depth of his error,

This fool is in jeans
And a shirt and yet
Not a stitch of his
Dignity left,

This fool is just
A fool who loved
Much too well
And who's stilled heart now

Is broken in hell

A hand that is open clings to nothing and no one
And none can tear its grip away as it holds but air,
A hand that is open is unthreatening,
An open hand is peace,
An open hand invites welcome and presence,
An open hand over the heart is a greeting,
Even if that heart
Is breaking

Written by anyone else I would read what follows and guffaw,
No doubt!
And say between laughing tears,
"What a mug!"
"How insecure!"
Yet you cannot be insecure
About something which does not matter,
And neither can you feel dread
At something coming that
You do not mind about,

I can be objective and say
I knew this day would come,
And if not this day then one day
That the moment will arrive,
I can say the truth,
I love enough to let you go
And indeed dance at your wedding,
As indeed I shall if I am invited,
Yet the keen pain that I now feel is
More the knowing that those three

Small yet massive words we shared,
Rising inexorably from my heart
And yours (then at least),
Have changed everything for me,
Every. Thing.
And I can no more stiffen my lip nor
Be just pleased for you because my heart,
Oh GOD my poor bewildered heart
Is dying now inside my chest,

And with my heart dies the last
Vestige of hope for me,
Hope of a shoulder on which to lean in
Those rare times of need,
Hope of one to love me warts and all,
Hope of one into whom I can pour all of me
Without let or doubt or hindrance,
Hope for that one love we all crave,
And we all know that without hope?
We die.

There is for everything under heaven a time,
And mine has come,
And mine has been,
And mine has become history,
And so now time for something new,
For someone new,
Someone with whom to enjoy
The benefit of all the lessons learned
With me,
Someone fresh and unsullied
By our mistakes
And our cocking up,
The rows and the stupid misunderstandings,
A bright new future in
Those sunny uplands we oft discussed,
Those painful conversations
We both hated to perceive the truth of
Have come home at last to roost,
For everything under heaven
A time comes,
For everything and everyone
A time also leaves,
So now I am left,
Now I am alone,
As perhaps
Indeed
Should be.