Joakim Bergen

Love?

I saw you ‘midst the flowers,

An angel manifest.

The winds delivered your scent;

Sweet,

As the lilacs upon your hair.

 

I wish we could meet, maiden

O’ the valley;

But my fate’s foretold by

Stars, an’ of them no mortal

Man is ever free, never un-tethered

From the bondage of Destiny.

 

The rain, life-giver, doth bless

Me, mingling with the tears;

Bitter-sweet, the taste of salty

Regret an’ of chance, slipped

Away.

 

How fettered man is, joyously

Heaving Heavens upon his back,

Never seeking reward, nor respite;

Content with his burden, he makes

Himself the sufferer, an’ yet

Seems as a victor, bending, but

Breaking not.

 

If I were such a man perhaps I,

Too, could carry this burden of

Love, unrequited; but alas! I am

A meek, soft flower, bent; the

Weight of my petals, almost too

Burdensome.

 

So I stand, in silence,

An’ watch you pick my brethren;

Carrying them in your arms, placing

Them against your bosom, Life,

As they suckle on your teat; drinking

The sweet dew, they are invigorated,

And grow to be elegant an’ beautiful,

Proudly flexing their leaves in the Sun.

 

But I, dearest maiden, am but a forlorn

Flower, nay, a weed, castaway, whom it

Is to bear the burdens of Fate, alone an’

In fear. Where is the Sun, whose rays,

Exuberant, animate the corpses, revive the

Dead? May it shine upon me; if only for a

Moment, may I, as others, taste the joys of

Life, without fear, growing in the light of day!

Or is it mine, and mine alone, to dwell the

Nightly streets, in tattered uniform, forever lost?