Garret’s Lament
Janet Kuypers
12/28/12
I know I truly belong to her.
And I know I can never come to her,
she can never claim me as her own.
So I am reduced to
waiting outside here,
standing at vigil;
year after year,
waiting for fleeting glimpses
as she walks by.
I know she cannot come to me,
I know this is a line
she cannot cross,
that woman, with those morals
that keep her from me,
as my stiff wooden bones
keep me from running to her.
I know Bartholomew stands guard
while I wait, but he does
whatever I say, he lets me
go on thinking of her this way,
lets me go thinking of how
we are truly meant to be.
I know it’s sad, that I cannot be
a part of her life, lead her minions
in her annual desires to join
us together in the world,
but I have been hardened
by the coldness of time,
when all I can do in this world
is wait for her arrival,
even if it is only to see
her gaze at me endearingly
before she leaves my sights again.
If you happen to see me,
and think you see a tear
rolling down my wooden exterior,
know that it is not tears.
Because my wooden heart
has turned to stone,
so I could keep this steely gaze
as I continue to wait for her.
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