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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