Any and all warmth of loves bright glow,
I have ever; or will ever know,
Has always been lost,
Though that loss has never been grave in cost,
I know the cost of sharper pains,
Of wish of death for those whom I disdain,
Those temptress arms that have come and passed,
Which yield so swift but clasp so fast,
Who have plucked my heart and soul from my chest,
Leaving me night and day of unrest, pure unyielding distress,
Of my heart and true loves plans these thieves have made such mess.

Not all fault can be pointed out for me to deliver blame,
Without a mirror which would not reflect me for shame,
For actions I have made,
The costs I thus since paid, as lovers passed then fade,
With lines drawn between one and another,
Are blurred, lost, and only in recall rediscovered.

I speak of love,
As if I have been sent such gift from high above,
As if delivered to me by heavens dove,
Was distinction of specific amour given to me and to another,
But I do not believe a connection of this nature has been found
in any I falsely call lover.

If love is delivered by Cupid's bow,
Then no gaps in my armour does that marksmen know,
And if love is bore by that at first sight, then shines truths light,
Then I think I must be blind and see nothing but darkest night,
And if still not this and only with time does love exist,
Then I think these times I must have missed,
Never laughed or danced or kissed,
And instead slept blindly throughout an age,
Leaving this chapter unwritten, blankly left is every page.

I pray to a god that does not exist that the future does me well,
Releases me to life from the knowledge; of an existing loveless hell,
That I will meet someone before the tolling of that bell,
To know a soul, who will be all my pain will need quell,
And that some heavens wings will then have saved me from what I may befall,
As into loves loving arms I will hope to fall.