Elaine (James Rustic)

The time has come for me to at last swallow my pride
And expose the world to the depths of this soul,
Drowning in the desire that makes men whole
For the woman I hold so dear, to whom I secretly confide.

Holding her in my arms, I am overburdened by a love
Of which those surrounding me despise and disapprove,
For they have seen the way it has infected my crippled heart
Which, by her words and actions, is constantly strewn apart.

The day is rapidly approaching, sweet maiden, for your departure,
Ensuring the commencement of my depression, my self-torture.
And if I fail to whisper my love, my emotions into your ear,
Then take with you these words, these poems, and hold them dear.

For I will surely become the martyred slave of your absence,
An uninspired lush, deprived of your healing, soothing presence.
But worry not, for the return of your love I will patiently await,
To hold you once again, so that my sorrow may finally abate.