From He

Creation, yet moreso heightened by't
wonderous passing of spentless time,
watched on and questioned of every
measureless moment, bordering all't seams
and trims. Past seconds for a second Coming
of our Lord. Our hiding. Our summ'ning.
Examine from every side-alley the Dry Flood
(sent down and damaged by the light of the moon)
which paralyses our apprehensions.
                    Come again, let us play,
                    let us know, He is here
                    and deliv'ring our fate
                    to us. Sowing our seed.
          Time passes once more,
          like any other.
I see no flaws and no faults, not in you,
my darling. Come love me more than is true,
for I shall return to you those pretty lies.
Spend a thousand little moments locked in your eyes
'till I realise, not all't time.
                    There is no way, no cure,
                    for sure. A broken second
                    like the very first you heard
                    and that last one you beckoned
          to your bed-side.
          That one was I.
Is there no sensing of guilt? No answer able to be
given is required. Nothing must longer leap
from your tongue. Only harm springs from words.
                    Turn your back once more.
          I see no candle extinguish'd
          by the cloak of our sins,
                    yet we cannot be sure.
It's but an icon, a symbol, false prophets declare
                    my love, all true, all
          things forgiven and spent
          pursuing that perfect scent
                    along the end of the cord
that carries lying lovers to't top o'the stairs.
That's the place where you will find me,
casually locked in the arms of true beauty
                    that tells not truthes,
                    s'all lost on you.
          Don't fulfill the aims
                    enhoused in the waters
          where her body was laid
                    by the uncaring dirt
          and lost, triumphant
          in the glow of fine lamps.
I trust upon you all my wealth
                    (all gathered from dishonesty)
and upon you came he, quite where?
Unsurely, though somewhere that yet
have you relinquished, or wasted
                    (unlike those whom around you be)
on all those who refuse to take to sit
at the bow of our creaking, agèd ship.
How can a man, made weak by suspicions,
feel here so captivated by the actions of one
          who commands no adoration?
          Still flying like a bird.
Sheer wonder encouraged by the beauty of the scene
that confronts me. Make it ever harder for me to leave,
if you will. Hold me closer, tighter than ever known
as I require such a tender and caring, alone,
          not in this world,
          not where I toiled.
The feigned innocence of this very place
gives me all that I never wanted to take,
          here it is, special, and for you.
                    Don't leave now, the night is young
                    and the songs, as yet unsung,
          need recognition and hope, all through.
Another day has come for wishful thinking
          of my love for you.
                    Carry on like I cannot,
                    keep singing our song,
as from my abode, promise, I too shall sing.
                    Given to you is the whole lot
          without bearing a clue.
Lose all that which I expended on your smile
across the days, across the every of these times.
          Undeserved, on my part, the strings play
          the role that I never intended to take.
                    Leave me before I leave you
                    and take with me the wasted
                    little moments, the memory, too,
                    and the proof of our sins.
I shall return them to you once you sin once more
          with another, yet another
that you can waste time on such, to mourn
                    when they've gone,
          as they surely plan,
                    as they've done before.
Exploitation of what you never earned to give away,
a gift of which you use to great avail
for your means, your means, not one for I,
the one you'll find, locked in your eyes
          with all the rest who tried,
          yet not one who lied.
No words do justice, as you've passed that point
when a backhand trick, or a careless ploy
can fix the problems arisen by the hurt
                    that has driven you away,
                    towards the blackest of black lakes
that grows still darker with every turn,
          yet there is no way to leave,
          nothing left to see
without your help, which runs, faster than I,
into the corners one will never find
                              and never want to venture into.
          No, not now, not anymore.
                    The time is gone for carefree love,
                    as careless lovers fight the Sun.
Illuminate the weaknesses, the creases on her skin.
The beauty, which you based your love upon, no longer sits
          so calmly on her cheeks,
          there's but memories to keep
                    and cherish close.
That's where I am, lost in the beauty of remembrance,
as the beauty I remember, no longer does she stare
back to my eyes. It is new beauty that appeals to me,
and the sweetest new beauty, sweet, sweeter than thee
          is it too. This is nothing
          when your body's all so limp.
                    Now I'm here, but, soon, I'll leave,
                    as there are many more to meet
and share this love with, share with they
who can kindle in me love again,
                    but only that, nothing more
                    than physical for mental store.
Please cry with me, come, cry with me
for in doing so, your conscience, clean'd
          as it were you who caused this pain,
          over and over, there you lay,
                    beside me, darling, may we sleep
                    and forget the troubles that plague this key
          that opens doors but never hearts,
          though locks up windows, stops the draught?
So darling, darling, here we lie, and as we lie
we can but love. And love, the sweetest, sweetest sign
                    of all the little things to come
                    for me and them, the Devil's sons.
          Forgive! Forget! This heart is bare
          and lying naked, here, though there
we learn our lessons, take the truth
that turns itself out unto you.
So if we turn, and turn we may,
until we find that place we lay
and rest, and feel the warmth of man
flow throbbing through us, still though sad
and lonesome to our heart's content.
My heart's content with what you said
          before you left me, 'fore you cried
          the tears I never thought to hide
                    away from you, my love, my dear.