How deep the love
that through my own veins course
like ancient ships from long ago
that never found their shore.
What good is it to love,
I ask the moon and stars
When in the end,
when all is said and done,
it's up to fate to play its part.
But in the darkness that is wanton,
a truth burns bright: It's love, alone.
It knows not distance nor commitments,
it asks for nothing in return.
It shines like gems for centuries encrusted
within the womb of earth's cold stone.
No less ethereal than a pupa
when into butterfly, it turns.