To you without love

A regular melancholic fit must be credited as the co-author of this piece. I have been very candid here and any allusion to artistic expression must be thought of as balderdash. This is a poem that has not been deliberated upon. It is raw just like the emotion it describes.

I am a heathen and-
like the heathen lords of old,
they shall burn me
when I am dead and cold.

It was not a question of how
rather it was a why;
that I loved you
and you didn't give it a try.
I know I cannot complain,
nor sing of beauty
when blood it rains.
The times are hard enough
and life obscure.
I wish I could have dreamt,
just to be sure.

And yet I was the wandering asteroid,
and you - the Queen Moon.
Alive in all her glory on a wintry night.
I could but look and cry for want of woe.
Were this something more, I an equal,
celebrating the good and the true.

Alas!
I am the flickering light,
ready to depart.
I wish I were more,
something more to you.

I wished that she could have loved me
but the Queen Moon was moot.
So I turned away, charred in the soot
of my naive ideas.
I had no light of my own.

It's your play Sun, I shall turn away.
You be together, I shall wither away.