I want to know why, how, and when,
But I can't. So I sit, and then,
I begin to wonder, to think about,
All that's within me, then I shout.
I yell and scream to the sky,
Wondering, always wondering why,
This gift I have is too a curse.
Like water that could end my thirst,
It flows, just beyond reach.
But never nearer. I beseech:
Let this sweet torture end,
Let me paddle around the bend,
If I cannot leave this lot behind,
I fear, no happiness will I find.
In sad solitude I will remain,
Never to be joyful again,
Never to see a kind, smiling face,
Never to know love's sweet grace,
I will lay stricken, on the border,
Between lines of battlefield disorder.
On opposing sides, my curse and my gift,
One and the same, creating a rift.
A chasm into which I will fall,
Where people will look down in awe,
Where they will see me, broken and cold,
Where my heart will remain, until I am old.
They will place a plaque, at the edge of my grave:
Here lies he, who was made a slave.
A slave to that which was a gift and a curse,
He left himself behind, and put her first.
Just beyond reach, she danced and lured,
And though she knew his heart was skewered,
She left him to die in this chasm of pain,
Never to know true love again.