I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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The shelter of shadows, condescending,
Provides me with a ghostly audience.
Entertained by my distant attempts to
Decipher your hidden co-ordinates.
Those same shadows, nocturnal patriarchs,
Bless me by their private benediction.
Knowing not as they do, just what I might -
Truth be more of a stranger than fiction.
Beneath a confederacy of stars -
From the first observance of meeting eyes,
Through the adversarial bond of wounds -
Grew the need to fulfil our grand design.
Blind to the promise strangers embellish;
Deaf to their talk of silent temptation.
This agéd heart, by nature rebellious,
In caring for you, finds its vocation.