I yearn for that which I can not grasp.
Fingers stretch for what is out of reach;
Catching nothing but air.
Yearning for that which brings me pain.
...
Sun and Moon long to caress;
Cold and Burning so far away,
Stars tease and taunt for what can never be.
Wind and rain sing for what could be,
...
The Despair That Is Love
I yearn for that which I can not grasp.
Fingers stretch for what is out of reach;
Catching nothing but air.
Yearning for that which brings me pain.
Fingers still stretching.
Yes! With finality the gap between that wich I yearn for is breached.
Though only to carress and recieve split flesh in return.
The pendulum swings, and drops of my essence meet the floor.
Along with the pain afflicted; I feel something else.
An ache, not just any ache.
In my heart.
My heart aches with sorrow.
Over powered by the desire for that which I cannot grasp.
Him.
I grasp for him. I yearn yet all I recieve is pain.
Pain. Pain. Pain.
I send out love, to be met by angst and resentment.
The ache is gone.
For my heart has broken.
With my last breath, I release all that was felt.
My love dies, with my last breath.
An end to the despair that is love.