Poetry

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Dear Sweetest,
Loveliest,
Biloven O' Mine.

How beauteous you are to mine hollow, atrocious carcass, of a soul.

'Tis You,
'Tis always been You.

Be it then, now or to come.
'Tis You, that I refuse to cease wooing.
'Tis You, that I will never stop abusing.
'Tis You, mine onliest Jealous Syndrome.

Return now to me,
O' Biloven, Come.

Come raging through with a galloping Virtue.
Come searing with sultry eyes of nobility.

Come, but then do not!

For many shall die twice and live just to die unendingly.

I wait, my Biloven.
I wait impatiently with grief to moan and mourn.

We are one but what of them?
They are mere children in need and still revel, still rebel, still...
Unborn.

Arise O' Myriad.
Awaken soon.

He comes to slay and kill.
He comes to reign and rule.

Tis not the end of the world.
'Tis not the end of time.

'Tis the End of Heartache.
The Heartache,
Of just...
One.

- Schlemiel & A. Y.

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