As if upon the moon’s decree,
his memory waxes and wanes.
And, I, tossed into the shadows,
am at the mercy of these whims,
just a figment of celestial light.
Wane you wily canker,
make me foremost in his thoughts.
Need I plea, grovel or wail,
to expedite your spin?
Or is my suffering titillating?
What a cruel ritual:
You wax and I’m forgotten,
forgotten till thy wane.
In this abyss I struggle to exist,
drowning in dark tempestuous seas,
stumbling through rugged continents,
unsure of all but what is known:
I am one with the insane.
Why does nothing endure like this blasted breath?
Why, for all my willing, does it fill these chambers still?
Would it not be better … fairer, if I slipped into the void?
Yet, here I wallow, with emotions you eschew,
while you stir my torment, like a witch,
secretly compelling the undertow.
When you too have lost your zest,
then will you know
that nothing endures like longing,
separating we the divine from gravity.