Fragments of Love & Death

You, my love

You are not like a long, red rose;
Although you have sweet beauty,
It is not that of artificial elegance.
Nor beneath your charm lie cruel sharp thorns
That rip the flesh that dares to touch.
No, you are far sweeter than a long, red rose
That is admired most in slow death

You are not like the stars above;
Although you shine with diamond light,
It is not dimmed amongst the lonely crowds.
Nor does it burn with such a murderous rage
That it swallows worlds with a dying breath.
No, you are far greater than the stars above
That need darkness to be seen.

You are not like the holy saints;
Although you have a sacred heart,
It is not carved out of immobile stone.
Nor does your love flow only with the wounds
That come from a longed for martyr’s death.
No, you are far more loving than the holy saints
Who stand deaf-mute to prayers.

You are not like the moonlit sea; 
Although you have a silver calm,
It does not conceal a cold treachery.
Nor do your depths hold an unspeakable dark
That have consumed a thousand helpless lives.
No, you are far more handsome than the moonlit sea
That only reflects sun’s borrowed light.

You are not like a poet’s muse;
Although you’re worthy of fine praise,
It cannot be said by my clumsy pen.
Nor can I use the words of more skilful bards
For no borrowed words can sing your worth.
No, you are far more loved than a poet’s muse
But my deep love can’t flow in ink.