Dearest, you were much like me, so hampered by yourself, your circumstances different, yes, that, but not much else. Although we must be held apart, by a hundred or more years, I still felt every stinging word, and longed to still your tears. The things they did to hurt you, that can't be made undone, and while you never knew it, you were not the only one. The world made you their scapegoat, your only real sin was pride, and they feted, then destroyed you, and something precious to them died. 'twas not enough to see you burn, on the stake that you had made, they had to let you take your turn, then leave you forgotten in the shade. No sudden death, no burning bright, no martyr's death for you, they dragged it out, and made it slow, your honest friends were few. Until at last, in your disgrace, the best parts of you died, And everyone forgot your grace, and your name was then denied. Your life was lived on many plains, or so everybody thinks, but I feel that I know your pain, I wish that I had been your "sphinx". (sorry, Ada levenson)
Reason for writing:
anyone who gets oscar wilde would understand this, and the reference to Ada.
for anyone not familiar, this man was brilliant, and anyone who writes poetry is probably able to
understand his dual nature on some level. We are all more than one dimensional.
Birth sign: Aries
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