Your eyes have surrounded,
My aching morning,
As beauty swims a fallen mile,
A death that I drew close,
You will be the woman I will raise,
From a worn stem of flesh.
You have a face that shows a yearning,
For a merciful connection,
A series of tears have washed my tired face,
I am a man who knows truest torment,
As I have named it upon my back,
That has received many lashes.
There is love streaming from my soul,
As I view the woman who I aim to save,
From a wreckage, from a failure,
And from my undoings.
My inaction has come at more cost,
Than the men who commit to genocide.
I see the tears falling from your gentle face,
When you sleep in a night of darkness,
And with twisted fingers,
Rosy flesh and idle heart,
There is simplicity in every part to whatever gaze,
Has come around to apologize.
And I speak to you, “Do not weep,
You have beauty, and I have not.”
I simply wish to stir,
Around the waters of your heart.
I will make the gold and the ornaments,
From my barren hands.
I will make what is necessary,
So that love flourishes.