Mask Of Victor Eremita
© Surazeus
2018 04 28
Pausing as they stroll among fluttering trees
in the park by the large Church of our Lady,
Soren and Regine gaze at each other,
and she blushes when he takes both her hands.
"What I really need," Soren declares softly,
"is to get clear about what I must do,
not what I must know, except insofar
as knowledge must precede our every act.
What matters the most is to find a purpose,
to see what it really is that God wills
that I shall do because the crucial thing
is to find a truth which is truth for me,
to find the idea, my guiding light,
for which I am willing to live and die.
What is truth but to live for an idea?"
Reaching out her hand in the white lace glove,
Regine caresses his wolf-like cheek,
and smiles at the gleam that flashes his eyes.
"Since we met three years ago, my wild bear,
and sweet spark of love connected our hearts,
I live for the idea of being with you,
for the visions of your eyes you express
enchant my heart with love to hear you speak.
Since you paused while playing piano for me
and declared your love, I have lived for you.
You are the idea of truth I live for."
Kissing her hand and gazing in her eyes,
Soren beams with joy, then blushes embarrassed.
"My little Heks, witch who enchants my heart,
you are the greatest treasure in this world.
You are sovereign queen of my heart, Regine,
hidden in the deepest, most secret sanctum
of my breast, the heartbeat of my desire,
in the full compass of my life-idea,
within the cathedral hall of my heart
where it is just as far to light of heaven
as to hell, unknown deity of my heart.
Can I believe the poets when they claim
the first time he sees the beloved object
he thinks that he has seen her long before,
that love like all knowledge is recollection,
that love in the single individual
also has its prophecies, its types, its myths,
its Testament to the virtue of love?
Everywhere, in the face of every girl,
I see the timeless features of your beauty."
Regine blushes and glances away,
noticing the sparkle of light on water.
"I want to be the idea of truth
you live for, but I want you to love me,
and not love the perfect idea of me."
Feeling anguish like lightning strike his heart,
Soren trembles as he feels the world spin.
"I fear my spirit is too melancholy
for the daily mundane routine of marriage.
I love you, Regine, queen of my heart,
with the aching passion of God for truth.
I wear the mask of Victor Eremita,
the victorious hermit who seeks the truth,
to hide failure of Soren Kierkegaard.
I fear my prospects for making a living
are few since I can do nothing but write,
though I want to pastor my own small church.
I love you, Regine Olsen, my queen,
but I fear I will fail you as a husband,
yet you will haunt me everywhere I go."
Strolling together among fluttering trees
in the park by the large Church of our Lady,
Soren and Regine look at the blossoms
that glow white and red in afternoon light.
© Surazeus
2018 04 28
Pausing as they stroll among fluttering trees
in the park by the large Church of our Lady,
Soren and Regine gaze at each other,
and she blushes when he takes both her hands.
"What I really need," Soren declares softly,
"is to get clear about what I must do,
not what I must know, except insofar
as knowledge must precede our every act.
What matters the most is to find a purpose,
to see what it really is that God wills
that I shall do because the crucial thing
is to find a truth which is truth for me,
to find the idea, my guiding light,
for which I am willing to live and die.
What is truth but to live for an idea?"
Reaching out her hand in the white lace glove,
Regine caresses his wolf-like cheek,
and smiles at the gleam that flashes his eyes.
"Since we met three years ago, my wild bear,
and sweet spark of love connected our hearts,
I live for the idea of being with you,
for the visions of your eyes you express
enchant my heart with love to hear you speak.
Since you paused while playing piano for me
and declared your love, I have lived for you.
You are the idea of truth I live for."
Kissing her hand and gazing in her eyes,
Soren beams with joy, then blushes embarrassed.
"My little Heks, witch who enchants my heart,
you are the greatest treasure in this world.
You are sovereign queen of my heart, Regine,
hidden in the deepest, most secret sanctum
of my breast, the heartbeat of my desire,
in the full compass of my life-idea,
within the cathedral hall of my heart
where it is just as far to light of heaven
as to hell, unknown deity of my heart.
Can I believe the poets when they claim
the first time he sees the beloved object
he thinks that he has seen her long before,
that love like all knowledge is recollection,
that love in the single individual
also has its prophecies, its types, its myths,
its Testament to the virtue of love?
Everywhere, in the face of every girl,
I see the timeless features of your beauty."
Regine blushes and glances away,
noticing the sparkle of light on water.
"I want to be the idea of truth
you live for, but I want you to love me,
and not love the perfect idea of me."
Feeling anguish like lightning strike his heart,
Soren trembles as he feels the world spin.
"I fear my spirit is too melancholy
for the daily mundane routine of marriage.
I love you, Regine, queen of my heart,
with the aching passion of God for truth.
I wear the mask of Victor Eremita,
the victorious hermit who seeks the truth,
to hide failure of Soren Kierkegaard.
I fear my prospects for making a living
are few since I can do nothing but write,
though I want to pastor my own small church.
I love you, Regine Olsen, my queen,
but I fear I will fail you as a husband,
yet you will haunt me everywhere I go."
Strolling together among fluttering trees
in the park by the large Church of our Lady,
Soren and Regine look at the blossoms
that glow white and red in afternoon light.
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