A frail, desperate release of voice into the vast anonymity one has not cultivated. A cry that wishes itself the final plea. A slip through the crack by but a droplet from the dam. I ask of thee, "hear me, or do not," for my words are here as but a tendril of despair. Or hope. But not all is grey and broken. For now is brought not by sadness alone, but by yearning and love for thee. Mine prince of whom I wished, has changed the life of which I gaze into upon the moon. Do not lament, he speaks to mine and now do I Whisper dear For there is growth and greatness here In celebration, this emotion will not pale til I have felt its full embrace And gladly gazed upon its beauty Although I cry "He is Sun to many and I am one I wished to walk with him beneath the moon" Someday yet I'll stoke fire within my soul; I will burn brightly on my own
