35. Longing
My longing overtakes me
every moment when my thoughts engulf me
like a whirlstorm of nostalgia
concentrating on but one thing in the world
which is of course Yourself.
If all this monstrous pain
and languishment of longing is not love
in honesty and utter purified sincerity, –
whoever possibly could think so is not human
or is ignorant beyond repair,
because no one knew what love was
who could not see and recognize its suffering.
All love is high-strung self-inflicted torture
of the most enjoyable and sympathetic kind
since it is only true and self-denying generosity.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-08-26 at 13:44
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