Entreaties mine
Through faults line dominion
she mocks;
and
Like a mad fool king,
With deep aching rage I stand;
Fighting for the right to be loved.
Is it so unfair a thing that I ask?
Is love... love... pure selfless love,
Nothing more than an aching
need within me?
Or am I like the delicate angel,
Who sings of the sweet and gentle
Lord's caress,
Yet is nothing other than an echo,
From a dry and dusty hymnal,
Thrown to the floor,
On a mid september morn...
No I say!
And No again!
For I am more than that...
I am created,
Born out of desire,
need,
longing....
Thrust into life,
I scream my own precious melody
for all the world to hear...
and
In doing so,
Feel deep satisfaction,
in her tender loving kiss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem