In this existence, this illusion, this day and age,
can it be that one thing that beauty transecnds?
Is he entirely what I’ve ceaselessly been seeking out,
or is there some room left in this hunt to reroute?
In my days I’ve searched along shadowy meadows,
along the streams of lost souls and widows,
But I find none, found none, I am full of woe
as my writer’s fancy has lured me into a web of grandeur
better than the moon shone,
Is it a lie, a false desire, a trick of fancy?
am I falling into the illusions of a shameless dandy?
Is it a crime to seek out that one thing that rises above all,
other than yourself, in this realm of ours?
Be it criminal or insane,
It will fail to be my bane.
Frowned upon or praised to Olympus,
I will not change my ways, I’ll find my focus.
Althought I may have presently found it,
but by fear I am to it blinded,
I’ll keep it close, I’ll cherish it forever,
but with the signs I’m left with, I shan’t shut my eye to my endeavours.