A tribute to those who wish not to long
For such the divine of which there is naught.
To eye such beauty and grace shalt be wrong,
And we shall be smite blind for all we wrought.
To seek of love there is none that be true
For all that be found are lust and facade.
No lovely passion from unabsent view
Can be found, love is not but a mirage.
Onward we long for what never exist.
Strive forward nor backward, we shant submit
To fictitious love, happiness, and bliss.
Marching our dreary outlook, shall commit
To a hollow soul, an end malady
For out loveless hearts, our own tragedy.
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