Pathétique 3

O emotions! you wild winds that sweep
Between the breath of earth and sky,
Where words fall short, but the spirit knows,
Yes, feels in the marrow, that life’s cruel song
Is just a fleeting note—sharp, unjust, but brief.

O soul of tears! Lift your chin high,
Though the heart may sink, low as the bending grass,
The sky weeps with you, the universe mourns—
Each spirit crushed, yet rising like the sun,
Tending to the wounded stems of far-off lands,
Where even sorrow’s barges drift—laden heavy,
Pressing against the shores of your tender heart.

But ah! through the storm of pain, through tears of fire,
The soul, like morning after rain, clears—
A sky so blue, it speaks of brevity!
For all mortal pain, no matter how it stings,
Is but a moment’s song.

And though the earth spins in its mystic dance,
You, beloved, who breathed love back into me,
Whose words stand tall like columns of truth,
Are the pillar that holds my tender being,
For love denied is a crime of the heart,
And loveless life is treason—
A punishment paid in a currency that leaves the soul wanting.

O, the festival of life! No longer a surprise,
I know your voice, your whisper like a breeze,
And in that knowing, I find the balm for wounds unseen,
For love lost is love remembered, forever keen.

:: 10.05.2024 ::