Shadows

There is a burning passion, a fire… in the blood, a desire… to move mountains, yet such art… mere shadows of— A yearning… and a hunger, that possess… both heart and soul, a longing… all consuming, that bears the name of love— A feeling… an emotion, that conquers mortal man, that drives him ever onward, with a need to understand— Yet alas… such is, in vain, and what, in fact, but doth remain, is an emptiness of spirit, that leaves him e’er in want, so that he doth but wander, in sadness, and lament— And yet… he doth not falter, in his desire to pursue, what some consider folly, and others… merely proof— That… the burning passion, and fire… in the blood, the desire… to move mountains, art far more… Than shadows of— The yearning… and the hunger, that possess both heart and soul, for such… I feel for thee, and feel… thou should know— That this feeling… this emotion, it taketh my breath away, and yet… I am uncertain, if I but feel such, in vain— For such… though unrequited, still burns intensively, yet it is… thou know[or care]not, and thus, reluctantly— It is… I doth but wander, in sadness… and lament, for my love is unrequited, perhaps… but never meant— To be more than a burning passion, a fire… in the blood, and merely… but a shadow, Of what the gods call love. Written January 18th, 2000 © on Sep 01 2001 12:19 AM PST   0 • 12