The Engineer
I walk the world with weary blade
that cuts the knots that have no name;
unconquered kingdoms I have saved;
I've sought, though never grasped, the grail.
To know the word that worlds will kill
yet never wield it, is my whim,
of box of trouble, loose the lid,
but never open, thus to win;
and should those problems prison fly
I hunt each one both day and night
in quest that is all front, no side,
with little deeds until I die.
At end no marble marks my grave
save massive monuments I've made
that line the ever-widening ways
of palaces where children play.
Aiming for Love Enduring
Even the overwhelming sun shall die,
but not my love; it shall, I swear, endure,
and remain in youth while stars flare out in sigh;
my love shall last, for it is holy, pure.
You scoff? My friend, you see the slightest part;
your equations cannot be stretched so far;
you have no experiments in the ways of the heart,
have never measured love against a star.
Your scoffing is just that, mere scoffing,
bare assertion that no evidence has known,
but if you are right, then at your death-coughing
you will have had a scoff, but be all alone.
But if I am wrong, I yet will live more sane,
and if I am right, I have truly soared above;
for if I am right, my love shall ever remain,
and if I am wrong, I shall have ventured in love.