Lord Francis Bacon

My Baconian half

I know the shadows of your early morning wake have retreated and offered you tranquility to continue your day on peaceful waves of interest. I tried to sleep but could not, so shall offer you this email and then try to rest.

I should say that the following is not a poem, but a pledge I wish to offer you. One pledge, though you read many, yet one in oneness.

Should a shiver of dusk ever pass fragrantly across your eyes and leave you in darkness, I shall raise the sinking sun made of mellow gold and offer you sparkling vision.

If ever the song of hurrying rivers crash so loudly against your hearing and leave you without sound, I shall stun the crash of the ocean and receive the sounds to salute upon you.

If ever tricks of life shall still your poetic voice and leave you speechless, I shall endeth language, as we know it, and invent a language still unborn that may speak to you.

Should the timely ticks of tearful sentiment ever leave you bare of embrace, I shall become your vast and shadowy stream of warmth and embrace us both.

If a whispering rumble of fate leaves you with no steps to travel Baconian paths, I shall be your vehicle and lead you to the worlds of our histrionic authors.

And should that time come, when you diminish from sunlit heights of passionate pleasure, and Master Bacon wishes his rest, I shall be your Mistress Bacon of pleasure, as your body shall speak to me, and satisfy your crave.

Goodnight my heart.