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Poem

Amid the deceit and pain of this modern era,
one will be born
who shall embody bygone times and ways;
he will want naught more than an uncomplicated life,
to do what he must and be what he can.

Always shall he look backward
to notions of the past,
like the gallantry of the chivalric knights of old;
in his own way thus he will be looking forward,
ever seeking a return to such goodly tenets.

Yet think not of him as a peerless warrior,
a brilliant mind or a charming lover,
for a failure he shall be -
mistakes, his accustomed routine;
regret, his vigilant companion.

Not alone will this wanderer travel;
for one will also be born
who shall see through his disguise of joy,
reach the agony underneath the surface
and whisk it off with nary a trace.

She shall be the most exquisite being
to exist outside of the heavenly realm;
yet never will he convince her
of the undeniable truth of such claims;
forever she will view herself unfavorably.

Stubborn to the last, he will profess his unworthiness -
surely one such as he, a pariah and buffoon
deserves not a creature such as she,
yet both of them shall depend upon and cherish
this love of the ages.

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