Painting: “Tristan et Iseult” by Gaston Bussière
I feel a longing tugging at my soul
A yearning, a sorrow, that none can know.
My booted feet leave prints in the white snow
As to the hallowed place in the forest I go.
My Earthly existence is fraught with despair
When I listen, only silence fills the cold air
And teardrops have stained Her skin, so fair
Fallen from our eyes that have lost the will to care.
She stays in our home while I travel alone
When I’ll return, even to me isn’t known
The magical sadness that chills to the bone
Tears at my heart; unto Hel have I flown.
An enchanted sorrow from behind the Black Sun
A unifying sadness, until the war’s won
Nostalgic, melded, joined as one
By the tears that have fallen, and the things we’ve done
The depths of blackness, of longing and hate
The tides of our sorrow will never abate
And nor will our love, for joined in this state
Two souls live as one; salvation’s too late…
By Johann & Isabella Aldric, New Zealand
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