I am only a man

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Seven times I died before winter’s end.
Eyes accustomed to weeping through the night
Thinking thoughts about the loss;
And longing to belong
To the air you breathe one more time;
But I am wholly unworthy

To desire your delicious lips upon mine again.
Alas! I am only a man.
But, I am a man who walks deeply
Into the melancholy night;
Where her bitter refrain
Can be heard as she weeps
I go unnoticed standing
Amid her tears, which fall heavy like rain.
I wished to no longer downed
In the deluge of her sufferings;
Rather, to wake in the cradle
Of her soft whisperings.
But, I fear I am left only to my dreams
Therefore, prevent me from sleeping no more;
If by “her and me” it means I must dream
Then I ask never to be awaken from sleep.
Alas! I am only a man.


The Subjective-Singular-Self