I wrote you, dear, a Valentine I had no way to send,
Which sweetly versed as it began, in tragedy would end.
The osculation of my pen to paper failed to count
The magnitude and impact of my sorrow's paramount.
No agonizing scribbled line could fully testify
In tears of ink, the only drops I am allowed to cry.
What use is in futility, to try and not succeed?
And what on Earth could justify a fool's intrinsic need
To grasp at what is out of reach, to draw from empty wells?
Why dream a dream that doesn't live and then in ink drops tell?
They never live, and never die, but fester on a page
As endless, ever growing sores, and wrought in endless rage.
What silver lining might be found? What light may lie behind?
But blackness for a darkened soul with rage forever blind?
But still, I sought to send to you some words you might adore
This special day that was to be our joy, but nevermore.
So I set out toward the sea entombed in deeper blue
To write a mourning Valentine and send it unto you.
The heart cannot defy the tide and neither can the land.
Its hunger, never satisfied, observes no reprimand.
And yet, before the crashing surf that always was and is,
A peace resides beside the deep, and yes, my nemesis.
The sea gives life and takes it back, then does it all again.
And neither thundercloud nor stream may cause it cost or gain.
For deeper than the sky is high, the liquid atmosphere
Keeps all its riches well concealed in darkness and in fear.
And that which goes from hence to thence may never hence repair,
But all that comes from thence to hence will end up, someday, there.
So by the sea I found a place to write my loving ode,
And on a pad of sandy script, a stick supplied the mode,
A frantic scribbling down the beach in words made just of sand.
Enraged and crazed, I wore the wood I'd taken into hand.
And every word was born in peril, threatened by the tide
Which swore to rise and bury them wherein they did abide.
But pressing on, I carved the gift before the swelling sea,
Some meager words upon the beach I'd dedicate to thee.
"The sun has praised my eyes this morn," I marked upon the ground,
Then looking at the morning, wrote, "The gifts of God abound.
And to the skies I've turned my eyes," I scratched before the sea,
"And heaven I have found," it said, though I could not agree.
The words were meant for you to see that I was living on
And hopeful, but the words were lies for with you hope had gone.
"Now here it has occurred to me that love may still exist
Within the very words I write among the ocean's mist,"
Was what I'd written next, and then, "The waves have praised my feet,"
And in that lie, another lie that made the fall complete.
"This morn," I wrote and dared to add, "Each crash another stave,
A crisper cold than in the eyes to which I am enslaved"
But then I thought of George MacDonald, what from death can save,
And what might fill the deepest grave loves on beneath the wave.
"Outside the love there are no words inspired by those eyes,
And like the love, the waves will prove to be the words' demise,"
Was my response, now mad with guilt, unable to refrain,
But pressed again and scribbled more in hopes to ease the pain.
"I'm searching through an endless storm, upon an endless sea.
I could not navigate forlorn, or sail my ship to thee.
A port of call and shore serene in memory abides,
But here despondence found my love and at its docks resides."
So with my stick, I turned the sand and all was like a dream
Of some strange beauty blossoming from pain you've never seen.
I ploughed along the virgin beach my verse in perfect line
Until I crossed an agnate soul, a corpse akin to mine.
An albatross, once flying free, now fallen on my pad
Forbade me to complete the boon beyond the tomb he had.
And somehow in my mind it spoke, though dead and did not move,
But cried aloud of soft remorse, a sufferance reprove,
"Unlike the sea, I feel for thee," I heard the body say.
"A while we watch the tide until it carries us away.
So write the note and send it," were the words I heard, or thought,
"The gift complete will set you free, bring what it was you sought."
With bird in hand and with my stick, I raced towards the end
To write the morning Valentine and let my sorrows mend.
"Now storms that come and storms that go," was what I drafted next,
"The hopes of men deride," I wrote, and added to the text,
"And rains may fall and winds may blow," I scrawled before the tide,
And though I scant believed it, wrote, "And men may lose their pride.
And clouds may loom to shroud the shore, may even dim the sun,
But even oceans can't restore my most belovèd one."
And there I laid the albatross upon the moistened sand,
And threw the stick and on my knees I wrote with dirty hands,
"I try to see the light, but I find only sadness there
And Darkness, all consuming, casts his shadows everywhere.
My tragic love that drowned last year, there's nothing I can do.
I perish still with every tear, with every tear for you."
Who cries for fools who stand before the forces of the world
To cry defiance, smiting Heaven's plan as it's unfurled?
God bless the man who's known no loss, may happiness be his.
Though pain completes the spectrum, let the ignorant have bliss.
But now complete, my Valentine had spanned the stretch of sand
Between the rocky outcropped cliffs where water beats the land.
I sat beside the verse and bird and waited for the tide
To rise and swallow all and take us back where you reside.
A while had passed, but then a roar beguiled me from the sea.
My wave was closing fast and it was twice as tall as me!
I've heard His voice is like the thunders, rumblings of the deep,
But fearless, it was like a dream, and I as if asleep.
The wave came down and swept the beach that had the ode contained.
It stole the gift and albatross, and only I remained.
"But Lord!" I cried, "Why leave me in this pain and guilt to burn?"
Awaiting his response, but then, the tide did not return.
I was deserted, all abandoned. Inward, I was rent.
But somehow it was right. Somehow the Valentine was sent.
So please accept, my love, my gift that I'd engraved to you,
And keep it as a token 'til the day He takes me too.
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