Incomplete Alone

Pulsing, pounding,
Drumming, swelling,
What is this tide welling,
Up through my mind.
Causing my feelings to grind,
Into sloven disparity.
Why can't I now see,
Seemingly the end.
To see days when this will mend,
And I will be no longer alone.
Oh From my throat tears a stronger moan!
Why must we be apart!
I, and my true heart!
Does not the heart die,
If tis not nigh,
To its resting place here,
Clasped close, clasped near.
To its rightful rest,
Where it lodges best.
What virtue is in continuing,
To suffer under the sting,
Of longing agony,
Apart from thee.
The virtue is patience,
Which I must bear, from hence,
Till then day we are wed,
And my hearts true hunger is fed.
But somedays, my soul feels the icy pulling,
The dark calling,
Of serpentine saturnine sorrow,
Which pulls in a steady pull,
Upon my heart,
Piercing like a dart.
I long for communion,
I long for union,
I long to share with you,
In whatever we may do.