Kings have known this mystery,
Shrouded in fog of gold.
It races blindingly onward,
And I feel my heart turning old.
Fast as the wind it recedes,
And is lost in the fingers of night;
I leave it behind in my horror,
And let it shrink out of my sight.
I let it go only because
My fragile mind cannot contain
The power pent up in the mystery,
But hides as the fire starts to rain.
I hide too, barred behind doors
That my heart reinforces each day.
The mystery knocks with persistence,
But I bid again: just go away.
I let the mystery flee.
For though I'm in love with the thought
Of ardent pursual disclosed,
Surrender at last I will not.
I don't understand: don't pursue
A heart so enveloped in fear.
Your vic'try won something for me,
But this--this cannot come near.
Kings held this once, deep in vaults,
Treasured as gold, and esteemed.
But I--I resisted the thunder,
And let it all go, unredeemed.
postscript
Day four. Not really an Easter poem, though one would have expected me to write one.... You are welcome to interpret as you will.