Seldom keep of hindered loss,
Upon the tides the oceans toss.
Reaping waves, on speckled sand.
A thousand dusted, from my hand.
Windows through the mirror be,
Cracked reflection lost to me.
If not the chains around my neck.
My heart to quaintly wept is kept.
For love is dead, remorse a stain.
Lingers long without the gain.
As feathered stars and wings they flew.
Bring upon the quiet few.
These they be with wisdom of,
Imortal passions, wilting love.
Near death apart, removed from me.
To rest with all hypocrisy