A Poem to my Beloved

If I had to lie down
Onto the black hearse instead of our love,
I would agree to die right away,
But hope is the last thing to die,
Yes, my golden one, I am living with hope
That Your tear, like the beautiful moon,
shall shine upon each letter,
each word, comma, exclamation mark and period of this poen,
as if it was the most honest of prayers.

My prayer is loud;
Like the prayer of an abandoned derelict;
Like the prayer of an abandoned child,
Like the prayer of a missionary in the valley of horrible hunger;
My prayers are searching for a sacred sanctuary,
To enter the cathedral above all cathedrals;
To enter your heart.

Just like a derelict is searching for bread crusts,
Just like a believer is searching for his communion wafer,
I am searching for Your kiss.
This prayer is my last hope
That Your tear shall slide onto my tear,
Into a world that is entirely ours;
A world into which the aureola of all human desires is born,
A world into which love is born.

In the darkness of a lonely night,
I am finishing this poem
With an inexplicable hope
That the time to say goodbye isn't here yet,
That our love shall not end on a black hearse,
That it shall live forever in our wonderful world,
In our hearts.