We met eventually.
Who knew we were going to plough each other's souls for a lifetime,
Reap, harvest, bear fruit, decay and resurrect through each other.
Who would believe the histories that unfolded,
Who would believe that we have not even held hands,
Who would believe the flesh has played no part at all,
For some souls a passing by is enough
Centuries dart forth and black in a glance,
The universe shifts and is recreated again,
The intellect is wiped out,
Some souls are Love's playthings,
They are destined to Love and accept the hardest tasks,
There is no choice in the matter.