Although now nothing can return,

The hours we have spent together,

I often catch myself begging to the Lord

For just another fleeting moment

In your presence, dear.

When you superfluously uttered,

“but why should it be me?”

All the while, great bliss

Spoke from your eyes,

As our passions mingled

Under the stars—

Murmuring secrets

to one another…

For a brief moment,

I truly thought we could have been

The children of paradise.

For a second,

I truly did.

But I do not know the answers, dear.

I wish I knew…

But I cannot say I do.

The Lord seldom returns

My prayers, my longing.

Even as I beg to Him

“Please,” in clutched fists,

“Please take me home;

I’ll do the rest,” I say.

“Just take me home—

And I’ll do the rest”.

You, of a wounded seraph,

With a heart crowded

By the lowly descendants of Jubal,

Masquerading beneath a face of

sadness,

Blowing flutes and striking drums,

Chanting and parading

Hymns in the minor mode.

What they sing and celebrate,

Below their disquiet

Of good fortune,

I wish I knew…

But I do not know…

I truly don’t, dear.

But, despite the tone-deafness,

Of my eyes and tearful heart,

Perhaps, there’s only one thing—

One that I am truly very sure:

I’ll never know.

I’ll never know.