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. //