Once he walks, there he bays;
Finer than light, none ere days
Gesture a moisture to soothe,
The only that can his heart prove,
Crosses through chains so silent,
Turns and now in shadow fare,
Dire the need for light, yonder
Reaches for torch unprepared,
Scorches the hands that me bleed,
So bled am I not carried?
Fair ye, this light extinguish;
For beauty crafts a mask real
To touch; to see and to gauge;
But is never not thy face,
Fear is thy name faux ye craft,
Sank once then sank again, but
Taints skin in all chemical;
For Nature asks for beauty:
But returns from ye but none;
So lasts, that age ye disgrace;
Walks in chains of beauty feigned,
Never looks back at the mirror
Lest all be fade ere ne bade,
To charm thyself in ways here,
If equals as we, shall I?

Aye, to walk away from me,
But to hurt thy heart with all;
Real all I ask is of thee,
Not another doll that wraps
In silk then lasts in bin bags;
Alas, buried here is thy mask:
A real beauty unveiled ere
The flesh fade, the blood sunk down,
Darkening the room, sees whole.

Mysterious, Poetry, Romance, Works
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