Love is said to be that of a rose
oh how sweet the notion may seem
thine own heart will only defy thee
and thine will make thine own body bleed
love is said to be perfect gentle and kind
thought thou will never see how flawed it is
til'st thou see'est it with thine own eyes
a fire started warm and romantically
then watch while thine heart and soul burn alive
by the very fire thine own "love" produced;
no longer perfect nor gentle nor kind
this heart begs no marrow break
for when the sun peeks above the tree-line
i am sure to dine with my lady, O Matre Luna,
for i will not wake for in the night
my life be taken by my paramour Death
and my life gladly given
myself left to be swayed by thine lovely face;nevermore
