Rejoice,
For I have found the alley
Where the truest of love is made.
On a starless night it was revealed to me,
When I had an urge—a very daunting urge—
To deprive myself
Of all daunting urges.
Now I urge you, brother—may I call you
Brother?—
I urge you to follow me, that I should not thread
This lonely path
Alone
Like a lone word, which makes a full line
Of beautiful poetry,
Where two four and two others makes forty
And one;
A single stone of water
Betwixt a sea of stone.
Shall you absorb me then? That I
May be your own—I mean your part,
Or rather a part, of you—the
One
Who makes you whole.
For, the truest of love
Is that which you have
For your own flawed self.
So I urge you now, dear brother,
To follow me, that I should not thread
This lonely path
Alone.
It is a risk, I know.
But what more can be sought of life,
Than the Courage to make your choices
And the Strength to make them your own.
That you might accept
Their failure and their shortcomings,
As your very own. And that of them,
You should learn.
I say then we make the choice
To risk it all along that way.
For, of all the risky choices,
Which a man, in his lifetime must make,
To choose to be safe itself
Is the most risky of all.
