To swear of love is will to kill,
And heart of love shall I fill.
To dream of loving and loving to dream,
not every thing seeming as it seem.
Still you cry of fine mast,
To see what earth hath had to last.
It's not broken stitches that break a seem,
but loud silent crys, and a lonely scream.
It's the wanting need that makes us daft,
or silent dreams of future's past.
And boundaries appear in fatal black,
Hath had less innocence when first he lack.
So you wish for be to be so silent still,
At heart's depth, death be it's will.
To dream of love and lover's quarrel,
is to dream of stories with which no moral.
And till a product of my love that gleam,
be silent and good for a love of my dream