A 21st Century Charles Dickens by the Bard of Bat Yam, Poet Laureate of Zion

What penance is to be paid           
for dropping the large brown eggs           
of your eyes,           
their content saturating           
the busted cartons.            
    
And all my childhood horses   
and all my imaginary playmates     
can't put them back together again.       
    
I can only try to explain.     
          
Blood is the life           
and I feel mine in these Sacred lands.           
Each spilled drop fertilizing           
a blade of grass.           
          
My Heart a Mother Elm           
embedded in these woods,           
My fingers rooted in past lives           
My breath warm with memories.           
          
These mountains bear my shadow           
and that of our Father's people.           
And perhaps somewhere in Time           
I'll belong here again.           
          
But how can I look at you and pretend           
when Poetry is pulling my Blood           
into the open flow           
of its own veins.           
          
I do not fear solitude           
but yearn instead           
for its peaceful existence           
from the world.           
          
You are strong and brave           
have kindled my being           
that I not freeze in the winter.           
          
And I could write here forever           
in this glade of wilderness     
watching you fish, smiling at me           
but were it not for Destiny           
drawing my name.           
          
I promised you an answer           
when I was ready;     
        
It never had to be said.      
          
But, the question you asked           
altered the existence between us           
and I've never been good           
at permanence anyway.         
           
The Truth is all I have to my name.             
Drink it from these cupped lips           
partake in this          
aching tenderness between us.       
Departures are never easy     
even when blessed.          
       

I have not traversed Time           
to surrender my own judgment           
to the ordinary Life.           
          
My Intuition is borne from Innocense           
and it follows the Poem           
into dark recesses of a Future           
I fail to understand, but accept           
as absolute.             
          
You have always been with me           
even now,           
in the taking of my leave           
Love travels with me.           
And, another makes his way through Time   
to lie at your side in age.           
          
I glance back once at you watching...           
but there will never be regret           
or loneliness in the company           
of Worded Verse;           
          
Only a 21st Century Charles Dickens           
contentedly alone at his  writing desk.