May I?

May I, by the power vested in me by the love I have for you, 

Place this ruby ring on your quivering finger,

Or will you slap it away?

 

May I, by the faith I have in God 

And the way the sunrise seems to sing in your presence,

Proclaim my love to you,

Or will you bid me goodbye?

 

Will you, my dear, haunt me,

Long after you die?

For no matter how many mathematicians try, 

None will be able to calculate the tears, for you, I cry.

 

No matter the years, miles, and realms that separate us,

No matter the adversaries I face,

In finding my way back into your tender embrace, 

I will always try. 

 

Your cheek, laid down on velvet casket, 

Is still pink but for the sullen grayness of your closed eyes.

And that glittering diamond of a tear that runs down it,

Obliterates that excuse of death you use as a guise. 

 

May I, by the willpower that you grant me with just one upward curve of your delicate lip,

Wipe that innocent tear away with my thumb,

Thus blotting away our tragedy at the source?

Or will you turn away?

Insisting that tears are nothing short of the soul, 

Flowing from the body.

 

We cry when we enter this blessed world.

We cry when we walk our daughters down the aisle, whole-heartedly releasing them into this beautiful, yet terrifying world.

And we cry when our beloveds cross over through the golden gates of heaven.

Perhaps crying, I daresay, isn’t such a bad thing at all. 

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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