We began as specks,
particles of dusk,
seen in a foreign place
from centuries away.

The prophecies had foreseen it.  
The oracle had spoken—
a collision so small in size,
yet so great in power

would tear the sky off its hinges
and send it crashing
through the mountains,
burying to the bottom of sea.

You were a bundle of white,
born on a boat on a summer day
as the clouds shimmered in tranquility,
and the sky reflected the sea.

I was born ****** and destitute,
with shadows so obsidian,
they claimed my soul and
set the sky on fire.

Two opposing forces like
you and me
had always been destined
for disaster.

Embarrassed at her crude, superficial motivations she continues. This is a hidden therapy she’s toying with. She thinks she isn’t any good. She doesn’t know as many words as he does.
Comparison is her damnation.
Look at her, she’s plastered herself to the floor.
Immobile, she can’t even reach the glass ceiling threshold.
He slithers away, contented.

Why do you persist?
Do you have any idea?
What I’d do
If passion pricked my chest
I’d move a million mountains
Still the seven seas
Drench the deathly deserts
Fling flames in frosted forests
Slay Hercules in his sleep
In order to cradle
You a little closer
And nip at your neck

"We can't afford to be wrong on this issue."  
~ Francis Chan

With holy anguish hearts are crying
through feeble language urgently trying
to summon the sleeping now to wake
for souls' eternities are at stake