Let me be free, or let me die,
but let me cry my love out in your arms first,
more than well aware that it might be forever,
all that grief and desperation being without end,
like all the human tears that constitute
the oceans of the world,
and more than well aware
that you can’t hold me in your arms
not even for the briefest moment,
love escaping us in fickle flight
to never really let herself be caught
but showing any presence only to abscond
to ever lure us into traps
and fool us hopelessly astray.
Alas, my desperation is without an end,
because so is my love.