The Passionate Professor

Is it death, that stabbing breeze,
Cuts me like a knife.
Love, it is night, just as Peck said.
The land of the dead,
Holds my love tight.
Perhaps not, Perhaps so.
What does the heart know?
To journey there and back again.
A fools proof is only an idea,
And thus a wise man's the flower
Which blooms within your hand.
To suffer confusion at all cost,
An intricate thing is the mind.
A secret is here, a riddle more so,
The Passionate Professor will know. 

Death and Passion

Both experiences that can be pushed to darkness
Death and darkness
Passion and darkness
Would I be necro to want to mix the two?
I feel,,, no.
To reallize one's mortality and one's immortality
In combination with one's desires.
To wish to carry one's passion into the beyond.
Is not a morbid thing I think.
Only a reallization that there is darkness in both
And embracing it can only further my mortal experiences