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Desire
Rose Adams
Desire
Oh true pilgrim, why do your eyes not love?
Am I truly that monster of the night?
A black raven in the midst of a dove,
Shunned into the dark shadows by his light.
He does not know I live for he exists,
Not in the eyes of love and devotion,
For friendship desperately persists
Forcing away his hidden attraction.
Death I beg, take me by your hand tonight
As my unrequited love hath no end,
It stays cold and wounded, it does not fight,
Away in a dark place, never to mend.
To burn with desire and keep it hidden,
Is a monstrous act, never forgiven.
‘
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