What means this beauty, infatuation?
This fear and all of this trepidation?
Are my emotions not my own to do?
And is my intellect not free to choose?
Shall one be governed straight by the other?
Or shall each say "No Keeper of Brother?"
Shall time immemorial stretch back as
A flower that were growing dead smack
In the middle of a grave, a place of woe;
If only just to say, just to give show,
That death does not end the gift of our life,
Nor is it the last word, no, not plain strife!
For only He can fill the gap behind,
Can satiate my heart, my soul, and mind.
Tug of War, (c) Luke Bennette
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