Merely tempest-ly, O' Lady, I can be, /
Wicked Rose run from Me. /
How does your rotten love become my only Discretion /
Until tomorrow's wish, I am /
Sweet in torture. Heavenly Ambition. Poor Heart, /
Thy end is light, I fear /
As guilty as summer creates a mercy blesseth dream. //
All madly fit I am, /
Strained ears, buzzing /
Corridors of what it could. I could not be. /
I wished. /
Make at last the parting of breath beware their unkindest love. /
I search again In part. In crowds /
and tame the storm as I try my breath. /
My name again as it once was, /
foreign to me as any belief. //
Little brave human, /
So kindly lost for answers, /
It is not where those mad merchantmen so gladly course, /
Behind doors ajar and above stone worn down. /
Away from the chattering streams and the solitude enforced, /
and lost through better once again. Shall your circumstance /
Down or Bare or Ay or Neither./
When your valor breaks and trouble in Night's reason shows, /
Be so you and you alone on cold tile may see, /
There is a god wherever you seak /
And so there it is as you shall be. //