wherefore art thou romeo

.

'OH ROMEO, WHY MUST YOU BE BORN A MONTAGUE?'

just as cloudless nights bring rain;
and thin twine holds fast;
and fresh water breeds disease;
like how the stars do not blink or swallow;
and do not think or feel,
but still burn through mediocracy;

bonded to time is life,
so where in that bond
does love lie?

is it slinking under your bed,
or breathing into your pillow,
or running its hands through your soft hair;

does it stumble blindly,
fallen on foreign soil,
decaying and unnoticed under blue sky;

is it calculated or insane?
strength or weakness?
real or myth?

i, dear juliet, think that love is a fallen star,
a man returned from the brink of death,
a divine woollen blanket spun by the moon herself;

fate is love.

and fate is death.

fin.