How terrible is to love something that death can touch

How terrible is to love something
that death can touch.

How terrible is to worship
the flame of your soul
reflected in your gaze,
whispering words
of freedom
in the dark hole
that is my heart.

How terrible is the knowledge
that tomorrow these words
are going to end,
scattered in a red river
of utopic dreams
of liberty.

How terrible is to love something
so intensely, with such devotion,
that even the inscrutable death
gives me the chance with the notion
that I lived to be in your last breath.