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Could, for my sun, not a thing compensate,
for what ever is else is lone irate;
There's not a ray of jubilance righteous
aside from mine but a hindrance, heinous.
A sky void of the vital star of mine
is a sky plagued by bleak, desolate time,
for what is there if not my esteemed saint,
but absence lest looms there a tumor, a taint.
A dawn to dusk barren of my luster
can nothing be but a somber shutter.
For what is lord and does all splendor make
but mine and if not, by time shall it break.
To cradle what has not from my heart flown
Equates to embracing some brittle bone
As ghostly as the bitter potential
That threatens to pillage my dearly essential.
My breaths, my seconds I only exhaust
For the sunlight for which my rev'rence bursts,
To which every pulsing morsel of my life
I beg be given without any cruel strife.
My gleaming gem glows so gloriously,
my eyes yearn its vision imperiously,
as my sight does crave ever strenuously
my light's each detail shining sumptuously.
So revered does my darling starlight thrive,
what does plunder its hours outside my hive,
but sheer fear eating my nervous flesh live,
impris'ning my heart to for lone me strive.
Should the weather ever tether my love,
should perish the divinity I clutch,
should flee from my grapple my dazzling dove,
the termination of elation would be such.