Lord I am alone and troubled query why
Is love a gift for some that time will deny,
Yet dear as the breath we each require to live
That one passion which is the suitors to give,
The martyr his cross and the artist his pain
The poet his muse and the miser his gain?
While Paris bold stood at the great gates of Troy
The love of that maid would his whole world destroy.
Love cannot reason or truly count its cost
See Othello, his Desdemona has lost.
Some fools that impatience in love surely grows
Whose victims we are that the mind never knows
For the want in their hearts do wither and pine
Drowning deep in lifes flask of bittersweet wine.
What love can produce the contentment we’re told?
Its visions of glory must slowly unfold
Amid thorny moments and troublesome days
Where dwells loss as it goes or fear as it stays.
If I am thus sought why so alone then I ?
Still safer my life whence to suffer or sigh
However apart, rather spare me the need
Of a lover who’ll grant me care without heed.
Claire V. Bogdanos 