but little did i know this fallacy was all but set in stone;
it did not take famine or death, or depraved thoughts of 'ternal strife,
to show me how i lacked in love, was you to walk into my life.
but sorry, i could not impart upon you what should be my all,
instead i fumble, foolishly, and trip then stumble then to fall;
what left after the fretful scorn, that leaves with you such wretched haste,
an unpalatable disdain that warrants hateful, bile'd distaste.
so 'pon this eve, i beg and plead, that nothing more come wedged and 'tween,
that i may ask of you one thing, that absolution from my sin;
and if you will not grant me thus, fear it is that takes my soul,
for nothing more is left of me, and never 'gain can i be whole.
perhaps redemption is too high, and ask of you upon this nigh,
but that you 'tain perfection still, no man, no demon can deny;
instead to this perfection is upon my humble'd beck'd decree,
for nothing more, and nothing less, your pardon is what sets me free.
to what i hope is 'ternal love, and if there's more, than i submit,
that even god cannot but laugh, for this mere hope, should you see fit;
to grant this soul one last sweet taste, a breath of air before i drown,
i crave your word, your sweetn'd smile more than of gold, of life, and crown.
to all who may read, to all who may hear, i cannot love beyond once more,
away with me.
that you should give, i would implore.