If you are one, then none all for mine reserved,
At last sparks the light, that candle does enflame,
Heat amid this focus does steep my gaze ere fought,
In that hill whereupon stood little comfort found,
Only asleep yet restless, my thoughts ponder;
Yet tired though rest without, my gut does sink deep,
Shall heart mine detached avow and shown ye so of?
Slowly breathes the first in many, the night that weeps;
Dares the soil upon his buried shadows scorn him,
Whereat this yolk his cold touch does feel ye fire hence,
Sans his felt heat, the tears that sound sirens
Around him shall brew hatred: his own delay,
Casts ye to that light but water sunk upon that frowned,
Notices ye myself whereof behind his walk does tread,
That I may see the shadow yet not the human,
That I may conjure evil ere not the good,
So knelt at him the deathly smile does entreat,
Him with that turns and motions only grass felt,
Walks further into darkness I yonder go.

Category:
Mysterious, Poetry, Romance, Works
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