The Poet

As fear of day cuts short night’s flowing love,
To cloud the feel of thy unravished breast,
So now, I cease to tempt the fleeting dove
And flee beneath heaven to home to rest.

My restless soul ponders in search for light,
“Shall I forever swoon beneath thy bust?
Enough!” my hope cries out, “Now end this blight!
Unhand me! Thou untouched bride of lust.”

Aye, though I wreck thy vessel of evil,
And smash the pier of love’s inviting docks;
Unless idle heaven so vents its will,
Hope forever shall crash against the rocks.

Adieu, my once sweet love, spill thy last sigh.
As all beneath heaven, thou too must die.