a jade's trick

he, a friend, once said, perhaps
implored, "don't get jaded," and
i, though far away, have never
forgotten, for long anyway, those
simple words, heartfelt petitions,
since as an idealist, God knows
i've tried not to be, i'm always
swinging, with a rope but tenuous,
at the edge of clarion call, hopeful,
and catastrophe, a run into the
night, but that swinging, taut and
expectant, is far from jaded, coming
from the old word jade, a bitter woman
or a worn-out horse, both, incidentally,
ill-used, and that swinging, that's hope,
but jaded is lost, and i thank that
friend for his words, faithful wounds,
that left a mark, a memory scar,
to remind me, who he knew better
than i knew myself at that time,
so long ago, that this world eats,
devours, the dreamers, romantics,
passionate visionaries, not by dark
dungeons, cages of disuse, but by
apathy, disillusionment, the dearth
left when despair, that persuasive
fiend, stops hope from swinging,
from pauses, commas leading on,
to ends, full stops with nothing after.