A Shakespearian Poem

Miracles are not unknown to be,

For they are perceived of chance,

And yet I know the hope I have that our love will one day flourish

Is more than a certainty,

For as seasons come and go,

And desires rise and fall with tempting despair,

The feelings I have for you will always stay the same,

And even if touch eludes me and words are not uttered,

These senses will one day form into a reality far more structured,

Than the universe itself,

And this hope will form as one when desire comes upon us,

And with confirmation will rise onto the heavens,

For reality will replace the mythology of despair and loneliness,

That circles me like the empty vessel of time itself.

And when the beginning arises, at whatever stage of time,

It will bring forth a reality that for the moments dwells within me,

A world waiting to be created,

And when that time comes,

We shall be joined as one for eternity,

Through life, through longing, and through even death itself,

For neither aged despair, or worldly desire,

Can deny that which will one day come into being

The En