Perhaps twas the tales.
Perhaps twas the intrigues.
Perhaps twas the mystery in stories told.
Perhaps twas because elders said tis Gold.
Perhaps twas the youth.
Perharps we may never know the truth.
No one knows for certain,
Why they went there asearching.
She had an aura of innocence.
Beauty that rivals the morning roses’ scents.
Men sang of her essence.
Others dreamt in manners indecent.
She smiled upon all regardless.
A smile like breadth upon the soulless.
All who looked upon her, thought her perfect.
Non could see she hid her defects.
A perfect façade she had created.
With the strength of a thousand posts and snaps,
She hid the emptiness inside.
His passion is a storm.
Raging on all things he dares perform.
“he is handsome, loving, sweet and gay!”
Sang minstrels who swing the other way.
“He is mine to hold and mine to love!”
Argued all his past betrothed.
Wiser men think him fey,
For his beauty puts to shame Dorian Gray.
Ladies and gentlemen clamour for his attention.
Taking his pictures only to fret over the caption.
“My Boo,” “My MCM,” “My man,” “My future.”
All consider him the perfect suitor.
The economics of this did not add up.
A lot of demand, supply could not catch up.
Something therefore remains missing.
Hence, the hole deep within him.
Like fog in daylight,
they both disappeared.
Explanations scribbled hurriedly by night.
Unbeknownst to one another,
They go on their voyage together.
To find joy for the attention is sorrowful.
To find peace for the happiness is miserable.
Though notes they leave,
Explanations escape them.
For ones who journeyed not, still seek to understand them.
He was perfect by worldly standards.
She was perfect by earthly morals.
But for lack and for want,
They journeyed to the other world.
Tis still a mystery,
What they lacked and what was wanted.
Whisperers say tis love.
Speculators say tis peace.
Sympathizers say tis for companionship.
Others for want of a relationship.
But no one knows for certain,
Why they hung before the curtain.
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