Between the stars is time, and within time
you came to love me.
Us youthful few, who amble along aimless
time, shan’t oppose
the prose which writes our rights, while wrongs
be wrought as
songs for the self.
Memories made for a mortal’s dreams;
how fortunate my eyes came to be
-- to see an angel who,
without wings, caused my heart to
carelessly spring.
Though two hands cannot press as one,
my heart has been touched by you.
No longer could meaning itself remain sober;
for between time came tragedy, and within tragedy
your soul sprung away from me.
A’lass she was, and was no more...
What else have I felt? -- if not the desire, to sing as
the choir, of my silent disdain.
I am here, yet still I wait for her to arrive.
Only in a mortal’s dreams...