Like an impatient tiger
He paces,
Like a solemn confessor
She waits,
And it is nothing and no one
In between them,
Save the world
And fear that's not named--
'O what fools these mortals be.'
Both the Tiger and the Lady
Seek sanctuary within the soul
Of each other,
But they have found fault in that,
For souls aren't quite perfect houses,
And not even Serenity can keep out
The voices, the noises, or that certain chill--
What is to be done,
When the world is too much with us?
Blessed silence settles down,
As night falls weary upon the sky,
And calmness seeks a needed host,
But is less than apt in its convictions--
He still paces
But in a slower fashion,
And so she still waits,
Though with less patience than before,
Beautiful cloaked in faith
And amber,
Sipping wine out of a cup,
And contemplating Love--
A fool's curse
Or a wiseman's blessing?
It would seem to be both,
And yet it is also neither.
What is it that restores Peace,
When Chaos has its hold?
Can Love be sung like a song,
To soothe the weary,
The heartsore,
The blessedly cursed few?
It is within the power,
Within the person,
To disarm the dangers,
And disentangle the doubt
From the freshly born dreams,
Because anything is possible,
If you believe it to be so,
And even Tigers can be tamed,
By a simple, soft touch.
He paces,
Like a solemn confessor
She waits,
And it is nothing and no one
In between them,
Save the world
And fear that's not named--
'O what fools these mortals be.'
Both the Tiger and the Lady
Seek sanctuary within the soul
Of each other,
But they have found fault in that,
For souls aren't quite perfect houses,
And not even Serenity can keep out
The voices, the noises, or that certain chill--
What is to be done,
When the world is too much with us?
Blessed silence settles down,
As night falls weary upon the sky,
And calmness seeks a needed host,
But is less than apt in its convictions--
He still paces
But in a slower fashion,
And so she still waits,
Though with less patience than before,
Beautiful cloaked in faith
And amber,
Sipping wine out of a cup,
And contemplating Love--
A fool's curse
Or a wiseman's blessing?
It would seem to be both,
And yet it is also neither.
What is it that restores Peace,
When Chaos has its hold?
Can Love be sung like a song,
To soothe the weary,
The heartsore,
The blessedly cursed few?
It is within the power,
Within the person,
To disarm the dangers,
And disentangle the doubt
From the freshly born dreams,
Because anything is possible,
If you believe it to be so,
And even Tigers can be tamed,
By a simple, soft touch.



