Old And Torn Poem by Elia Michael

I found a piece of paper old and torn,
It had a date of eighteen fifty-one,
A hundred years before I had been born,
Thus written by a man who was long gone.
I read the words so beautifully written,
Professing love to someone dear to him.
His pain was obvious and he was smitten
And thought to tear himself from limb to limb.
His lover did not feel the same as he;
An unrequited kind of love is worst
Of all for it can never, never be.
It always will remain an unquenched thirst.
Though years separate us, I felt a chord
Of sympathy for feelings he outpoured.