Like a pitiful insect behind glass
So frantic for the wilder world beyond,
Surmising the invisible impasse
Will be surmounted—surely before too long;
So has my passion raged pursuing you,
And so too so has my quest been thus denied;
Against this bar I fling myself anew,
In desperate love that voids all earthly pride.
An unrequited love is as a scourge—
Chastening where there has been yet no crime,
Twisting sweet serenade into a dirge,
And bleeding life of all its precious time;
Though lovers cling to cherished hopes they see,
Some loves are lost—some never meant to be.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.