Literature is loaded with stories or poems about tragic love—which becomes realized by others only after the lovers are long gone. This is about the lovers being judged by others who take no time to imagine how it might be if love was given a chance to end enmity and reunite sides. Lovers overwhelmed finally by the ugliness of hatred who destroy themselves to send a powerful message to both sides stricken with enmity towards one another.

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Forbidden love is the

bitter-sweet tragedy which

every noble poet earnestly

seeks as a casket

to finally lie within.

Every courageous yet fragile soul

can find final freedom

from passions overwhelming

only when the heart

is torn in two.

The only victory left

is the last true battle

which requires removal

of their protective coat of armor—

a final laying down

of mighty sword and sheild.

It is the baring

of their weakened humanness

to the one they secretly endear;

despite waenings from

all around them, that

they have endeared their hearts

to the mortal enemy

of their soul…

It is where knight and dame

unequalled and previously solitaire;

well-taught, from different worlds—

in a fleeting moment

cast a merciful glance

upon one another,

rather than raise their steely sword—

—its two souls struck

within a seconds heartbeat

by their own mysterious soul,

now mirrored.

Tragic love is where

compassion and forgiveness

overcome learned prejudice and

sense of pride.

It is the conception of a

righteous rebellion

to everything their eldes taught them—

a defiance to the laws void of pity

written ages before.

It is the tragedy where

both are now marked—

except by each other—

as sinner, betrayor or

traitor to the cause:

marked

in pure jealousy

for a love

others could not dare.

Tragic love is the battle

won not by fatal slash of saber

or destruction of realm by fire—

rather

the pending trial

which will win the one they love

with gentle caresses

and silent kisses—-

accompanied always by

eyes and voice

filled with reticent tears.

It is their final pleading

to God above—

with clenched fists beating

upon their bare breast—

to let their own heart die

if need be, for the sake

of the one they love—

the one they can

only hope to see blindly

through eyes glazed over

in misty grace;

glazed over with

the only love which

takes their all.

It is the tragedy hidden only

until their coincidal death itself

tells the story they could not share;

which pleads for understanding,

for removal of tower and wall.

It is the tragedy brave enough

to finally declare,

“All is not well

with what you taught,

all is not well

if not from the heart”….

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