Cyrano Poem by Lily Faust

love
is love that complete comfort you may find within another?
is it pure friendship, made so by much filtering over time?
is it found within the trust that an inocent girl places in a man she deams worthy?
is it the passionate attraction between a man and woman?
is it caring so much for the well being of another that one cannot imagine the constant dulling ache of time spent without the other?
is it any of these?
is it ever truly know and experienced in its true form?
or is it merely an i dea created in the mind by fantasies written in pages and songs?
women long for odysius and the cyranos of days before
with their valiant acts of risk and danger in order to be with their true love
and the carefully written but freely expressed desires of one heart for its partener.
but we find only the fleeting attractions of shallow men and imature boys.
we wonder, where is my cyrano?
but are we worthy of them when we find them?
are they not looking for their hellene and roxanne?
we no longer are the women of that time.
i mourn for the death of femininity.
i want my cyrano.