Deified

A pitiless yet shallow wire

Above our soft and crimson air,

A slight perspective of desire,

Despair.

 

With all familiar delusion,

And all this consecrated light,

All bitterness and all confusion -

Delight.

 

We know so much and yet we differ

From those whose names all merge in one...

 

'You are so rancorous, my anchor..." -

You could have said, but you have not...

 

The Sun mischeviously tampers

With our guts.