Love me, love me not, forget me, forget
me not... the capricious games we played
to centrifuge the ego, and to bet
our prowess in affection held, and paid.
At some time, in the journal of our dealings,
to face the stranger face, the testing time;
avoiding which, the puppets of our feelings
we dance, the short-cut to the high sublime
achieve: a dream, no more, but here and now --
oh, how it draws! - Others outsiders are:
easy to fly in one's opinion flow,
devise a world of faces, rest debar;
count that being real, the way life operates:
ego other excludes: can this be so?
Look at each face, it is each life creates;
then look at your face, and tell me that's not so.