| From Love God, virtue, miracles-- I scoff at your voices, I don't know you, I don't want you, but . . . no, I cannot, I do, I don't, I see. With new eyes I see a being, angel perhaps, maybe only a dream, but eyes do not lie, correct? Please do not deny me the sight of this saintly creature. I know what she means, I feel the cold blast of shame inside. What I have lived before is only a shattered thread, and I yearn for a more solid line like this glowing vision to guide me. Truth, faith, love-- all possible through her, a worker of miracles. After never feeling blessed, I now feel satiated in her presence. Don't take her away, don't take my savior; I beg no more, for she is mine, and I allow her only my person. The flames are rising, I will crush all around her, I must remove her to my world, conquer this woman, make her always stay, I . . . I . . . -- no, I cannot, she is too good, too sweet, too clean and too much of heaven. I will sink down instead at her feet for pity, for a serving of her heart. |
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