Here to behold,
is a face left untold
a remedy for the cure,
a kink in the lure.
The dream set by beams
the lakes swallowed by leaves
and this, my dear friend, I do believe.
My glory of moon and shadow of sun we achieve--
Greatness by the fingers of passion,
the desolation by discrimination.
The shout upon our bitter ends,
the twine that held us--denies.
Every ticket stub, every photo's frame,
through the memory condemned in vain.
True be still, lie be vibrant
this soul, this heart be a transplant--
To a body--not this.
To a soul--no bliss.
Held in hands who kept
lips motionless that wept.
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