I Have No Dry Eye

Something is in this pretty hymn That seems to be a tragedy. And, while I'd want to embrace him, I cannot let go of this reality. The horror is close at hand… For these days are quite grand Despite how much it means to me, I fear it is not meant to be. What will happen to my ravaging storm? And will these sly actions take me high? Denying the desire to engage the swarm In their euphoric sky, I have no dry eye. Despite all my efforts, it fails to sustain. Will these words ever be congratulated? It will never transpire in this quatrain, as I am that very soul, encapsulated.