Thoughts in poetic silhouettes

Silly Little Poem

And so, with the hour striking near 2 in the morning, 
He can't help it but to think of her
He who works grave-shift and with nothing but time, 
Waiting for a sign he waits for days
Gracing the world within her reach, as such, 
With every step, blesses the path in which she takes
She could cure the sorrow of that which lingered in his heart, 
Which far too long it has overstayed
To be bestowed an opportunity to redeem his love, 
At such a thought he tends to shake
Hopeful, he waits ever so patiently for the time when his true love shall awake.
"O' love of mine! How I love thine goddess who makes my world shake,
  Bestow unto thee, an idea that true love be it not just hearsay
  Because of which the love we shared still strongly remains 
  Denial or not, an action nonetheless I would appreciate." He thinks to himself.

Months pass, and nothing had changed, 
For which the love he bears still remained the same
Of his passion he did not hesitate, 
To earn such a love as hers was the name of the game
Truly, in his life, such a feeling, 
A feeling so strange that he could not replicate
Never before felt in his life-- 
He thought surely had to have been ordained.
Though, one could say this love was actually an execration of which karma had cast unto him.

Unbeknownst to him as the prologue casted into fear
In the wake of his true loves estate, in his mind arose a debate.
"To love thee, and for thy to love back as you claim be it true, 
  I can't shake off these malignant thoughts seeping through.
  Blinded by enamoration to thee, haven't I thought of it being cruel
  Perfidious visions of you leaving so soon oughta be merely a ruse!
  To fight these cogitations so I can break loose is what I must do!"
Enacted by foolish temptation, 
He is cursed to suffer this recurring emotion. 

While valiantly treading onward in his life, 
He often did stop to think of her,
"Dearest, for it is true that I love thee and not one else--
  Though wearied as I may be, my love for you will never cease.
  Lustrous like the moon on a clear night, ever so radiant, 
  The thought of thee, you help guide me in this never-ending sea."
And so, we leave this story here,
For there is much to be said
But for a silly little poem much more can't be read
In the purest form, divine is the idea of her in his head
To love her and love naught else is what he intends.

~Q