Love looks foreign from feeling,
Twisted with guilt and frozen in thought.
Having loved, I see surely that state.
Unequaled in taste as the Earth it wrought,
It drifts there with the annals of frost,
Unburdened by the vexes of weight.
As space so shrewdly goes, so love grows,
While seeking its nexus, naught.
But for this moment, could take your heart
By forming the very fate to start
And leave you with no words to cry
As no amount could there abide.
With love you have the seed for minds
To reach out to their likest kinds
And call on magic left to cross,
That sacred pledge, its solemn loss.
For love can have no magic true,
That does not start at once with you.
And if you would, your heart, deny,
Then drifting past you, let love die.
Another face there in the crowd,
Whose loving wish is not so loud.
The life of one whose visions try
To kiss the darkness at eventide.