The taste of desire is especially strong as night falls
The savor of bittersweet is now that I can’t withdraw
I long for your caress...
a touch so gentle that I once forsake
but the escape was in a name -
a name of nothing more than self disdain.
These hands are now in mine again,
and I hold onto them in repent.
Fear was too soon conjured by regrets,
but losing is a fear that I have no qualm.
Should you ever walk from my remorse,
the seeds of my sin is which I condemn...
All that I remain is a love which I use as stake,
and the hands are now dealt by fate.
It’s a one way to your heart and there is no turning back,
but still it’s a journey I am must take.
Your heart is the only place that i could rest -
a rest that comforts even in the face of death,
as my love for you is all that I have left...
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Comments about this poem (The Path by Eric Tang )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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