Withdrawn am I from storm and street,
From silent towns and deserts wide—
Not driven back by wind or heat,
But by her gaze—undraped, defied.
Oh, I would tear through dusk and dawn,
Undo the hours in passion’s flame;
For all that's pure feels lost and gone,
And sanctity is not the same.
She, whose brow once stilled my breath,
Whose eyes held stars in river’s flow—
Has robbed the night of restful depth,
And dimmed the twilight's gentle glow.
Each symbol once within my mind
Now fades like whispers in the air.
No thought remains, no peace to find,
For even rest brings back despair.
And in your arms, what secrets slept—
Of springs that bloomed, then softly wept.
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