When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd
He waits for her to say something, but no words depart from her lips. She's not herself, not when he found her, drunk with her head on a bar table, and not now. He wishes she would do something, but she doesn't. Just spends hours, staring out the window. As if she's waiting for something...or someone.
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,
I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
He knows what she's thinking of. Knows because he thinks of it, too. Those final moments when their commander fell. The unfairness of it all. Goal in sight. Victory in hand. And he fell, that dreadful moment when he collapsed to the floor, blood streaming like water, struck down from the skies.
O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night --O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear'd --O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless -- O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
Why must the good die young? Why must pain be so...so...painful? Why couldn't they be young forever?
Why did stars have to fade?
OOO
A/N: Poem by Walt Whitman, same name as the title