4On days of envy, pain, and pride,
Three houses, which will soon divide,
Are called upon for their own sakes
To make their stands upon their sides.
The house of sorrow, pained but true,
Makes reference to good Montague,
And how, alike with Capulet,
She suffered hard and fell anew.
Now, the sorrow spoke of old
Is fresh renewed and fresh retold,
For in our lives we feel its sting
Upon our hearts and through our souls.
The house of hatred, damned but sought,
Makes reference to the kings of lost
Whose blood was shed by kings of like
For power, wealth, and beauty bought.
Now, the hatred spoke of old
Is fresh renewed and fresh retold,
For in cast eyes we see its bliss.
It taunts the young and flays the old.
The house of passion, praised but feared,
Makes reference to the well past years
Of love and wisdom unrenounced;
A love that spreads among its peers.
Now, the passion spoke of old
Is fresh renewed and fresh retold,
For in our blood we feel its life;
A life so wise, yet all too bold.
On days of envy, pain, and pride,
These houses in our hearts collide,
And we should feel their push and pull
Upon our heart's indifferent tides.
Our weakness shows, our power strays,
Our laughter fades, our conscience prays,
Our smiles weep, our minds fall weak,
Our strength dims low, and we are stayed.
This, for all, is not all lost.
Though hatred is our hearts' accost,
Here sorrow makes to moderate,
While passion leaves our souls embossed.
Mind these houses and mind them well,
For you cannot avoid their spell.
Their mark is met, be foul or fair,
On days on which your heart will dwell.
undated, Oct. 1996