Is this what it is to love then?

-

To be forever in pain,

A fire burning in the pit of my stomach,

A smoke stinging at my eyes?

Is this fire never to be put out,

By the gentle touch of a beautiful river,

Never to be quelled by the loving hands

Of one who’s seasons change in time with mine?

-

Ah, but it must burn on,

For my love is not like others.

It is not the blooming, glorified sun,

It is the moon, hidden behind a cloud.

Neither is it the lively spring, crisp with newborn life,

It is the autumn, decaying leaves and approaching winter.

-

I am then to be spat on,

To be broken,

To be trapped like an infestation of rats.

It is the wrong love,

It is a snow shower in midsummer,

It is loving what is not yours to love.

-

Day after day I hear sweet words

Whispered or said in blossoming tones,

But they are not for me.

From those who I wish would whisper

Comes no word for they can never

Utter a single syllable to me.

-

And so must everyone but I

Feel the tender kisses of the sun

And find the first flowers

of spring laid on their pillow?

And shall I not bathe in the

Pale glow of a sublime sunrise or

Feel the passionate heat of a beautiful summer?

-

Ah, but I shall not.

I shall feel only the broken skin of hands in winter,

Feel the touch of a broken pine.

I will see only the angry stone of the mountains

And suffer the sting of the bee.

How brutal are the hearts of man,

Those stones I wish to crack.

-

Ah, what an impossible task it is that I have been set.

and I begin to wonder.

Was this love to love at all

or was it but a curse placed on me?