a would be sonnet for would be conquerers

We drafted plans and piled on the presumptions.
Like secret keepers of the night, we needed no sleep.
Love could be, love would be- the remedy to this malady.
We sat still pleading with fate to gift us togetherness.
She said we should serve stillness until it became second nature.
But patience never claimed us as one of her servants.
We made plans to plan and planned never to use pens.
We chose pencils for pace change, place, able to erase our trace.
We worked hard at working hard, but that hardly worked.
Our desire to be each other’s everything blurred everything.
We knew that fate and patience avoided our presence.
Instead of submitting, we fought for the love we craved.
And in abstaining from following directions- we strayed.
Then love, followed our example and fell for drama.
They call it

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