My dear, you’ve kept building what ought to be thrown
From the highest precipice,
To the furthest ocean,
And rent apart by waves acting as hands.
Hands from God, hands from Satan,
We are beloveds, always in arms, though I am angered.
I am angered by a world,
By a world that knows to seize
Love, at every opportunity,
And replace it with the utility,
Please deny me your place among the stones,
Among the rocks, by the sea,
For I am without longing to plea,
Longing to see,
Without the tears,
All that has made us timeless in each embrace.
Those waves, those currents, those shores,
Cannot be what they are, when you are vaster.