The Vase

Her beauty was unmistakable,

The porcelain made her skin glisten and her hair shine.

How I wanted to be with her,

How I wanted to touch her,

To hold her.

To smell the scents of autumn on her fair skin that the picture foretold.

Curse the fathers who birthed us in infinite longing,

To be so close, yet so far for an eternity.

For us to appear to be gazing at each other in heated ardor,

Yet apart endlessly.

To be limitlessly tortured as the crowds gawk at what is assumed to be our inevitable fate.

The truth is we will never claim that destiny.

The imagination of the spectator may imbue images of ensuing youthful courtship,

But in our reality that could never be,

As we are pasted in place, forever longing thee.

Our timeless romance to the average viewer was a thing of beauty,

But to me, it is a curse

Forever pasted in place,

Forever watching her watch me.

How I wish an observer would tip our small world over,

Shattering it to pieces,

And set us free of this beautiful day

Devoid of time

Filled with a love that would never be.

May our souls be released,

And joined together forever in eternity.