(Modeled loosely after one of my favorite classics. Does anyone know the original?)
Mark but this tear, and mark in this,
How great the fear of future is
When faced with what cannot be said:
A choice to stay or move ahead;
My cool, pale tear drips to my bed.
O still, two lives in one life spare,
Which might almost in efforts fare
To fight, or fly, for what we lack:
Escape these living walls of black;
Your warm, wan tear runs down my back.
In these cruel tears, now mingle our
Joys, hopes and fears: their final hour.
For future strong, for present weak,
'Tis true; we hear how false fears speak
Though our dark tears stream down my cheek.