The flutter, still reprieved from utter
Convoluted suffering.
Still as steel and slight as mutters
From the words of mouth
Or mouths from him or her
From here nor there
That stare at prowling slayers
Staying near the snares of others.
Still, I see it in their eyes
Aloof the witching hour guise
Of spells and knells from Hell
And devil calls to come.
Still, I hear it in their words
Such worth worshiping in praise
Upon a lovers silken skin
Despite the horror of their sin.
Still, I feel it all in air
Though I fair to breath it not.
Still, I sense it on the stone.
Still, I read it in great tomes.
Still! Oh, still! I know it not!
As though a Luciferian plot
Does bewitch me.
Oh, does curse me!
To be far from Valentine.
As though God, Himself
Does wish me to be here.
To be in pity so to suffer utter
Vengeance from all of those I've muttered
And I've shouted cursed bile
And vile unholy necromantic hate.
As though these many counted and uncounted
Great and tiny fractions of infractions
Have all come to be for penance,
Penance I have still to give.
Still! Oh, still! I know it be!
Though I know it not I know it to be real.
I know it still for I believe it to be here.
Still! Oh, still! I know it lives!
Though it has still not come for me.
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