A face of much grace
Has sought to look beyond herself
To my soul,
Where she discovered a corruption.
For her among the rest,
Was something I held upon, for dearest whiles.
Life leaves no inconsistencies
Upon beating hearts.
Yet, that turns towards the misfortune
Of being uncertain
When love drops its dew into the portrait.
All of fear,
Had been held so dear
To throbbing bosoms
Of both of our
A corruption, as was described
Was the devotion, turned to obsession.
A corruption, I believed to be love
Was the almighty feeling of fear.
Would I could kiss
Her quivering mouth,
Under heavy oaks
And the deep blue welkin sky.
Would I could marry
The vision of many wounds,
Before the altar,
As our fingers receive circles of gold.