“Star-Crossed, Revisited”

In the chalice of intentions the planets pace,

a solitary dance that dips and bows

in time, that swells and burns in icy lace

the blanket of our vanity, allows

us not to love as lovers do, but pose

in mind philosophies and “who are we?”s,

and beats persistent the tattoo: “Who knows?”

So surety has withered by degrees.

For, many times, I’ve stopped to think; to turn

my chin up to that cold and distant lake

and question God and question Fate and yearn

to know the reason for it all. But take

my hand the same, for whether love loves by decree

or chance, its power moves us equally.

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Note: If you enjoyed this piece, please read the companion piece, "Star-Crossed"