If I were what the rose is
And you, my love, were dew,
I’d scent you with aromas
Distilled from subtle somas
More precious than red roses
On paths that angels knew.
If I were what the rose is
And you, my love, were dew.
If I were what the air is,
And you, my love were breath,
I’d fill your soul with wonder,
Your pulsing heart with thunder,
Till each soft sigh a prayer is
And banish fears of death.
If I were what the air is,
And you, my love were breath.
If I were what the Moon is,
And you, my love, were words,
With opal glows I’d fashion
Clay tablets wet and ashen
Where each most potent rune is
Like frail enchanted birds,
If I were what the Moon is,
And you, my love, were words.
If I were what the poem is,
And you, my love, were cruel,
You’d leave me broken, sighing,
Till all my dreams went flying,
Blown as the ocean foam is
To some salt drowning pool,
For I am what this poem is,
And you, my love, are cruel.
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Submission Name: Dejection 
