My beating heart seems to speed
like thieves of golden life,
hiding before the flash of awakening
to cease what's long I dreamt;
what old sorrow has ripened me
when my happiness keeps me young;
never do stealing what's long I dreamt
for how deceit shall bleed me momory;
still love, I'd love and nothing more
but never to wishing that love,
if pain do steal what's long I dreamt
still love I'd do and nothing more;
for my beating heart seems to speed
beyond the love that it could handle;
when ever loving has been kind
on hearts whom love had long
abandoned;
but keep its beating this aloud,
keep the trembles of hearts that love
thus, needless love demands my truth,
but living trembles it immortalized
soon, time shall shape my ticking clock;
to measure love and nothing more
what then be sealed in heart's
emptiness
when begged its beating cease alive;
what only sorrow has my living
seems long been stolen what I dreamt;
of hearts in silence--never in love,
laid bleeding past of present wounds;
under stars like crowds of mourning
still love, I'd love and nothing more;
through hurried blessings and prayed
mortality
shall love keep me or never more?
