Fleeting charm caught up that smile;
caught my freedom for awhile.
Second-hand and deep as skin,
around her love I died again.

Tell me stories, paint my sky,
The truth is that I live a lie.
Sorrow ceases on the plane
of darkness; sufferance owns the reins
of instinct. Nothing more to gain
from passing fancy, on this plane.

Cut me off from seraphim!
Let me die; or live within
the confines of mortality,
if happiness will yet have me.

But here, among the selfish pain
of living, and of life mundane,
I cannot bear to ascertain
the breadth of immortality.

Lifeless corpse among the damned,
again I saught her dying hand
for one last, fleeting smile to grace
my pain-filled glance; and yet embrace

a sense of mortal ecstacy..
that from that moment, fled from me.

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