True half true the words I have said to you;

Lovely unpolished disgorged of the past

And the life from genuineness I drew,

Driving sane my madness, hoping for the last.

Apologies sincere with contentment.

I find myself resenting loud silence:

Dark betwixt Arctic winter days are spent,

Quiet in company, lone in suspense.

The only censer producing this

Is temptation first to affection warm

Follows to real endearment of closeness,

Ends not for trying, love internal storm.

Now is hope in figurative chess,

One move forward is one day-dream less.