1# Tales of long ago - Beloved.
- Feb 26
- 3 min read
I loved my wife before she knew my existence,
I felt she was there, always there, out of reach,
So painfully sharp and bitterly harsh,
Invading my dreams, pervading my sleep.
A shadow, a phantom, a symbol of love,
Awaiting my heart, awaiting my soul,
Awaiting my mind to give up resistance.
A jagged sting, a cut, uncovered,
I yearned in painful need,
To touch, to feel,
To know, that sadness, true,
So deep of soul and great of love.
Beyond this life, it's miserable ways,
Beyond thy God, his infinite days,
Beyond this small damn world and its barren haze,
And its pointless role in destroying my soul,
I wanted to feel, truly feel,
Such a love to take my heart,
Even at cost of destroying me whole.
I was lost, no man or woman satisfy,
Their empty souls, their shallow lies,
My need to give, to share a hope,
To show a life, beyond their scope,
To show the truth, of mans content,
To show the way, to true portent.
More than life could return,
Even God could not hand,
My need to complete,
Myself though my stand.
I knew they would find me,
My wife and her kind,
In ways always with me,
I felt them through mind,
A whisper, a glance while going through motion,
Of being of heart, in the Christian notion.
I knew they were watching, waiting, elated,
To offer a home, to a soul in commotion,
Not rushing or pushing, yet guiding my path,
Led to their doorway, a place known as wrath,
Not of Devil or kin, but of God and his due,
Upon finding me lost, to Satan's review.
Trying to write of clan on this night,
My wife, my beloved,
I think only of you,
To remember your sorrow,
I remember your pain,
Cemented within,
Gods holy reign.
Why must this be, I prey God lauded high,
To banish our love, to hide us from eyes,
To state we are dirty, evil, and sated,
To damn us and rue us, and make us your hated.
My wife is of love, pure blooded from cot,
Which creature she is, should matter you not,
For what is a soul, without true compassion
And what of your soul,
Lost from love without ration,
Left wondering why we have fallen from grace,
When the truth is in love, of our need, of our race.
We are not lost to you, thy father of Jew,
You have been lost, because of your rue,
For not understanding, the need of the flesh,
For not understanding, the strength of pure love,
For not understanding, our need of unrest.
The cruellest thing, God ever did,
Was give man love, to make him bid,
To bond another, very close,
To take them with you, throughout life,
Forever knowing, they will die,
Within your arms, within your cries,
To watch them wither, at your eyes,
To watch them leave, your very side.
I dread your death, my true beloved,
I dread to think, this life alone,
There is no other, for me now,
My heart is yours, to you, I bow.
To wander this earth, without you, I find,
Is too much to ask,
Of my heart and my mind.
I love you beloved, as a child needs a mother,
I love you beloved, as a man needs his lover.
I cannot be without you, I cannot face a life from your gaze,
My heart would be twisted, ripped, broken and caved.
My mind forever tortured in seeing your face,
Once more, just once more,
To look in your eyes, so beautiful, dark,
To see you smile, your teeth, that marked,
Not only my body, my neck and its veins,
Also my soul, where your love, always reigns.
This my beloved, is why God always loses,
He can't comprehend of true love or its uses,
A mind is not born into faith of thy Jew,
A mind is most born into hate of one's rue.
To love one another, is all that matters,
Not God or Christ, or this world in tatters.
Beyond any deed, life or death knell,
Not heaven, nor God, or time itself,
Will ever extinguish, true love born in hell.
