She was introduced to her Beloved,

Recognition was instant,

The chase was on.

Though there can only be one ending,

The race must be run,

And compassionate stars,

So as not to be bruised

By the maelstrom of her pursuit,

Swing aside, listening.

Her wistful sighs of yearning –

Her cries of joy and agony —

They’re the same.

(The Beloved comprehends

and chases because she flees.)




2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. carry11me11across
    Jul 20, 2013 @ 14:35:58

    A lot of depth to this poem. Amazing. πŸ™‚


  2. nelladell
    Dec 01, 2013 @ 16:25:53

    Carry11, There is depth in the person who sees depth.


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