He knows me not

He knows me not.
he knows the name
he has given me,
but maybe not its higher joy,
not my tears,
not the longings and fears
upon the years
that move my heart,
he knows not art,
not the flame he has sired upon the earth,
not to be seen as a toy
thrown to the sea.

He knows not of the poet under his roof,
his flesh's daughter,
and even if the first I were not,
he knows not how much I try
to swallow the knot
and the beautiful ache
of every good,
harsh truth
bestowed upon me to be understood
for the better,
for my own and everybody's sake,
so there might be another
in whose bosom, as I cry,
it stays between him and I,
maybe as the soul's father,
it seems,
for this one might know what I've got,
what bursts me at the seams...

26/07/2020