Love, Bittersweat

What rage and anger swell from within,
when I realize that the one made for me,
the woman with the golden heart,
shall never gaze upon my face.

That she will never know my touch,
the feel of my love,
the way that I can make her feel,
an invisible hand forever.

How I curse the heavens for showing me her soul,
that she is that one soul,
in all the world who understands,
yet she will never be mine to hold.

What cruel joke is played on the lovers hearts,
when the dreams fade,
and the reality of the day comes,
and I know that she remains always apart from me.

Boyhood dreams, a girl whose heart could love me,
no matter what my flaws,
nor how I screw up along the journey,
would stand by me through it all.

I reach out in the night, my hands searching for her,
in that moment between sleep and wake,
she feels almost real,
then the sun pierces the window shade.

She is not here! She never will be and I feel defeated.
Her love to always be relegated,
far from my arms,
never to cross the boundary.

Tearing at the sheets of my empty bed, I rage,
wanting her here,
needing her touch,
then screaming for what is never to come.

Slowly I turn to move from the bed and begin my day,
her scent on my mind,
her absence painful and raw,
my single tear falls as I face the empty room.

Why bring her to me? I ask aloud.
How long can I suffer the touchless pains,
how long will she,
what bittersweet madness do we share.

She loves a faceless man who struggles with what he is denied,
she rather to love me,
than nothing at all,
yet I rage against the cruelness of what we are forsaken.

Yet I must love her this way rather than no way,
because she is the one,
however imperfect it may be,
she is the soul matched to my soul.