Desdemona

Is there any sense of emptiness so terrible
as missing the person lying right beside you —
whose breathing you can hear,
whose warmth you can feel,
whose darkened silhouette you can see
against the backdrop of cold, uncaring night...?

She is lost to me, unmercifully stolen away —
and as did scorned Achilles slay Ilium’s son,
would that I, too, might sate the rage
that burns within from the loss of one such as she,
to remove this Hector who stands before me,
and drag his bleeding carcass in my wake,
through the dirt and refuse, for all to see...
(but I’m not bitter...)

My greatest strength, my greatest weakness,
she is both my salvation and my doom…
just to be near her —
the sound of her voice, haunting me;
the scent of her perfume,
rekindling passions I had thought burnt out;
the sight of her flawless beauty,
stirring up emotions that clench my heart
and tear at the fabric of my soul —
it drives me insane...

It is folly to love her, I know —
but it is hopeless to deny how I feel:
I miss who she is,
I miss what we were,
I miss how I wanted us to be...
she shouldn’t count at all —
yet the world means nothing,
and she is everything...

To believe a love should not have been
makes no difference in the lessening of its passion;
ask the moon to withhold the tides,
tell the sun to not burn so brightly —
as well to save your breath,
for it is the nature of the heart to love....