To My Knight

Heaven weeps and nothing more, but tears of laughter, or tears of hate? I do not know, but I say, good sir, spare me now your suitors plot. Why would I need love when I have all these words? When I have my dreams of heaven, who would need mortal attatchments? Who needs man when you have God? Cold, untouching God. Who plays with his toys like a child and an ant. I pray, tell me good sir, why would I need the likes of human attatchment, when I can dream of being squished under a shoe? And he makes up for his lack of affection with words that run through my head. Who needs light and love in their world, when they can just be cold and dark; but as long as I have my words. And you, fair knight, of to whom I write, are nothing more than a dream placed in my head and once again I am alone. Alone with my ever constant mind to keep me company. What cruel fate is this?