My Juliet - 5 : 14

My Poet - 6

Born in none but fear was my deceit,

My error now exposed with clarity. 

I lie here abandoned in the gloom;

Feel no guilt -- I would have done no less --

Doubtless I have earned this misery. 

Every sting and barb I shall endure,   

For I betrayed thee, love. I'd be livid,

Perhaps unable, even, to forgive...

But be not confused  -- this is my Hell;

There exists no penance so severe

As to dwarf the fear and guilt I bear,

And the horror of the coming doom.

I fade, Poet. My time grows e'er short.

Please know: utterly have I loved thee,

Never hath I felt such heat before. 

My utmost hath been given to perform

My duty as thy Muse admirably,

Ne'er a day hath past which I regret;

Even through the guilt and pain I bore,

My happiness hath ne'er been more intense

Than any single moment in thy arms.

Pure and without end, my love for thee;

A privilege was my service to thee, love;

In endless gratitude shall I depart.

Yet I would ask one final task of thee:

Every part of us rests in thy hands;

Each perfect moment, lovingly preserved,

In as much detail as I recall.

Use it, Poet -- weild the quill once more,

Write the book that lingers in thy head.

Immortalize me as thee hath before, 

And in the writing, thy true self embrace:

Sensuality - passion made flesh. 

Take all we had made, and give it breath.

Step into the 'you' who won my heart, 

And in my name, live most passionately. 

I'm sorry that this has to be the end,

But only mine. Farewell, my dearest friend. 

- Juliet

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- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015