Willows Weep Poem by Jacob Biehl

You cannot make majesty, it simply is in bieng.
You know not emotions, till they choke you.
You know not your faults, till they haunt you.
You know not the bliss of blessings, till they're sealed off.
You know not loneliness, till you've been isolated.
For you know not love, till you have lost.
My dread knows woe, but not misery, which is bound to company.
I write sins, not tragedies.

Auburn billows much like that of the whispering winds.
Entrancing stare to stop time and space in mesmerizer,
cries of joy to melt a heart, and sorrowful sobs to break one.

Only the villainous would entice such a sound. To throw stones at angels is simply malicious, cruel, yet what am I?
What am I who have not been sufficient enough a shield to hold, to not have been able to catch yet a single salted dropp from which sprung from such deeply withheld sorrows.
It is criminal enough to which willows weep, redwoods wither; even ashes burn up at such blasphemy.

Although I am not bitter, nor either do I regret what's happened, all I regret is that I am of such one.
I shall step aside out of affection and with a tearful parting, bid A-do.
I'm aware of the lack of luster, however I am pained when I'm left with but Ink and Memory, no matter how brief.
I just wish you find the one to catch your tears, one to shield you, one such I wish to be...