Platonic Love Poem by Artchil Daug

I doubt the sun will not rise tomorrow
or the moon will crawl with its mild corpus
whether we found ourselves in deep sorrow
while standing on a cliff without purpose.

Spare me all the accolades of reason
for the heart neither thinks nor breathe logic
and to believe otherwise is treason
most lovers act an ending most tragic.

But man is a flowing river in cloaks
facing those noble truths and certitudes
wearing a dull costume for unwise blokes
leaving out the heart on high altitudes.

Love is not an incomplete equation
for man to test these two souls' ablution.