A Casual Positivist:

The girl tells me I do not love her.

But what say I, when it was she who uttered,
'Reason is man's greatest virtue.
The god of Light becomes us,
And it is He who wrought us,
In teaching us to better ourselves.'

She rules a small realm of two stories,
Incredible; They say
The American dream is to be king of one's castle,
But even they must disabuse themselves.

What say I, when for all Reason,
The passion of youth is rage,
And so the passion of age,
And that of the ageless.
So it goes, to infinity (for she believes in infinity)!

An exception, perhaps, the arrow of Death,
Who fulfills without want, warmth, even a stirring.
But not even Death follows Reason.

She says, 'You are unreasonable,'
As one who addresses a child that
Values more the right of opinion, than the threat of chiding.
This she says when I am most myself.
The veils of imagination may blind,
So she fears them, distrusting herself --
I trust myself fully, but I am a sick man.

I fear she does not love me.
The thread is cut but I linger, amused,
So she finds the time to send me off,
If the venture proves unprofitable.