Tempest

It is cold, isn’t it?  The wind at your back.

Why do you shutter at the eternal heat engine, friend?

The breath in your lungs are more than enough to bring heat into this adventure. Here, now before you is a glimpse into that light. But you young things full of fright. The fright that straightens your spine and beseeches you with the worry that says, “they will judge you.”

But who is they!?!

The gods or the peasants fumbling about you, breathing the same air!

Love, you bastard!

It has nothing to do with you. Your love is not this ill-fated thing that the meek sulk about.

 

One day, the rain will be too much.

The tide will rise beyond my will. Drifting below I will, for a moment, feel now pain. I will remember you and smile. What happens after that I do not know, but with my love I will endure.

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