What beauteous words can truly be formed
In thoughts of love and admiration
That oh so possessive love
Reflections of the inexpressible
Barely hinting at the grandeur and welling bliss
Never really doing justice to the worldly abandon
Dwelling on the untouchable
The inexplicable adulation
But here in our sorrows words pour as water
Spilling from our souls onto paper
Freeing ourselves from the chains they are
Releasing our minds for more worthy contemplations
In cherishing our misery
All may understand the woe and ache
While the incomprehensible love trickles on.


Penned by my hand on the 11th of Midsummer, in the year 134 MA.