pathos

Pathos

I went for a walk today,

And thought about the things I’ll say

Away, some far years down the line

When I’m not yours, and you’re not mine.

How Time is a cycle of infinite sights,

And how to tell the earthly lights

From Heaven’s, in the sky above.

And yes, my dear, I thought of love,

Of things that aren’t, and things that are,

And yes I saw a shooting star.

No char, it glimmered as it fell

To pull me back up out of Hell.

And, well, I’m not the sort of man

To go on so without a plan.

I can’t forget the things I saw,

The endless sphere, your trembling jaw,

The awe I breathed into the air,

I know it’s trite, but I must dare—

So there it is, my star-crossed mate,

And yes I know it’s not our fate

To hate or love, to fight or dance,

To share more than a knowing glance.

Romance is something sweet and short,

And I, for one, am not the sort

To thwart its early death or birth—

If I know one thing, it’s my worth.

The dearth of things you’ll say to me

Unmans me some, but that’s the fee

Of freedom, that’s the cost of life.

And yes, it hurts just like a knife.

And glimmers like a knife.