Font Color='#880000'The Dilemma/Font
The orbits of the spheres have wound to see
by David Zvekic
These rolling tides, where Spring has swelled the moon,
And skies, though closed themselves, still sing to me;
Have I but heard their song some years too soon?
That night may gentler blow where breath leaves thee,
Resounding through my dreams in mute despair -
These raucous paeans of love will never once more bare.
What binds us here as one beneath the sky?
That seemly night betroths to fill all breath;
So strong a life that deeming love could die,
Should find a way to dream before its death.
And though we were as one not meant to be,
The notes are laid, in streaming muse to thee,
And dead unless the shame I bare each day frees me.
What firmament is this within thy core?
That holds contained inside its moving seat
Of all I have beheld of worth before,
Of all thou hast not felt of love's new sweet.
'Tis set within thy form, a kind control,
That comes though born of life less half my whole,
From mine through thine, thy flesh wields still in all, my Soul.