Shyness & Wanderlust Poem by Jonathan Ross

Late February evening, winter's heart so frisk
No snow on the ground, but we're all with icy souls
He thinks about it all, and decides to take the risk
Gambling with life, his mission and his goals

The dark path with one lonely flickering light
Walks the man who masks his face from the wind in his famed trench coat
His mission and his goals, are way out of his sight
He's whistling La Complainte du Partisan, not missing a note

He walks past his little Cathedral, with it's congregation dwindling
The Priest kindly smiles, but he doesn't really know him at all
The dark flame in his frigid heart, has no rekindling
His masked face stay frozen in the ice ceaseless to thaw

On past the parish, the little man works at the little store
Shutting down the shop for the late February night
The man stops to look but never buys anything, his heart too sore
His mission and his goals, are way out of his sight

Imperials oppress the citizens at the street corners
The man cares, but does not vote them out
The Imperials beat Liberty's few mourners
The man is one of them, without a doubt

The man meets the end of his walk like an old friend
Whistling his kind little tune, he arrives at her doorstep in a fright
He's been here every day and night, their relationship he wants to mend
But he always returns into the deep, dark, windy night

He pauses in cold sweat, so real and so exhilarating
The excitement strikes from his eyes into his feet
Shaking nervously, to talk to her, his mind is debating
Will today be the day that they meet?

He wants to confess everything to his dearest
Quietly he whispers, "Je veux qu'elle ma'ime."
He knows rejection is the heart's pain severest
But, he tries to remember the reason he came

He wants to stay, but feels he must leave
He knows to leave is childish, but it's his only acquaintance
It's what he does, it's his religion, what he believes
Is she even aware of his existence?

Lousy poetry fills his head, rhymes to connect and words to marry
His head so lofty with reclusive thoughts and his artistic nature
He wants to come down, but he's trapped high in the eagle's aerie
His entire mental stability he determines to wager

This February evening, in winter's heart so frisk
Without a blanket of snow, he denounces his icy soul
He thinks about it all, and honestly decides to take the risk
Gambling with his life, his mission and his goals