Mente Falsus

You believe sense

Only wrought from


In a pattern left right

In our path,

As if the quantity

Is firm quaintity;

Discovers what is left

In relations.


Is that kind of mind

One that deserves

Incident light,

Or ridiculous rhymes

In a courtesan line?

What do comparisons

Give to old-world


I bear not that mirage.


Indeed, instead,

You are my

Peace and my soul,

My high and my low,

Such tears, spindles

That prick,

And blood that falls

To the taste of

The heart alone,


Human beatings,


It is the only truth,

In thoughtfulness,

Though it’s left out,


That fault in my

Decaying bliss,

A mente falsus;


And when,

Through the eyes,

I see such passion,


It leads me to such

Panic- as once,

When I remember,

So clear-painted,

Brilliance biting:


That miracle

Of the skies,

Betrayer of love's eyes,

Take me in your arms

And serve your purpose

Clear and bright,

Before I recall

The wrongdoings

Of my broken mind.

The End

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