Received I none
besides my loss;
believe I none
besides my cost;
my worth not rebelled
by questions born
only deepened by time,
and pleasures I'm torn;
oh art in poverty
perhaps, a misfortune
a mirrored disgrace;
of angels I tortured,
for where's my heaven--
my violent bliss,
besides my poetry
of devils I kiss;
inside a solitude;
to stream my favors,
deprive my secrets
from boarded troubles,
how secluded my heart
from forth reality,
purely even denial
of blurred insanity;
for living's empty;
within all pleasure
if not by sorry
my love is measured;
and tonight by sunset
shall bear me silence,
too bad not worthy
of absent mindness.
