The Lovers

-For Achilles and Patroclus, reunited in death Alone, walks a soul upon the earth. He stands before a memorial, knowing that is where his body lies, But he himself has no grave; no remembrance: He will not be told in future stories, Unlike the man he lies beside in the earth: who he loved so dearly. He stares at the name slashed so harshly into the stone: It is alone in death; just like him. Yet, he will remain forgotten; it was decreed so— They say, ‘He has no place within a hero’s grave.’ So, now he is cursed to wander, and wander, and wander again; Dreaming of sweet reunion—a soft hand on his. One day, he will share his memories: They will pour from him naturally and relentlessly— All so beautiful, and as sweet-sounding as a delicate lyre. They depict the boy who was turned into a killer In his innocent youth. Of racing on beaches And swimming in lakes hidden in the mountains— Of gentle nights, when hands touched so tentatively, And skin burned like fire and hearts beat so fast. When lips pressed together in a passionate kiss And the taste was that of the sweetest fruit. After, two names will lie, side by side: Neither remain alone. Thanks to a mother’s blessing, Sweet reunion once so softly dreamt, becomes reality For two lost souls who have waited for too long To love each other again.