What is the is to be for thou and me;
Is it what is not–stalled in the slight times,
Or true light, for what is more than to be
Where pathless streams of love summit rhymes?
I leave thee to wonder those poser clues
Betwixt thy mind maze and sun like soul noon;
Thoust may reap all, or all is to lose
Thou art weigh to pry what to cut and prune;
For time is nothing, a skull laughing ghost
Thy phantom convex mirror image scream
The three fates trembling tempest final host
Whilst thee drifts slow into vacuum dark dream;
Let go of dies, be a flourished moment–
A kiss bliss that hurts like a stern torment.