/lit/ - Literature

>Since I’ve dwelled with you in chambers lofty,
>That, in your absence, I tread softly,
>Harboured in my heart, I have, a love that grows forlorn.

>Of face, of eyes, of shape and form,
>Of lack of all, my love was born.

>To feel the flame, but see no light,
>To feed the Soul with touch, not sight.

>In blindness are we born, and in darkness find the truth:

>To be, upon your lips, the heat which brightly burns,
>The fragrance that, in absence, the heart for yearns,

>Is to, from ethereal notions tenderly educe,

>The eyes have sight, yet the soul has vision.

Needs some work here and there to be tightened up, but only took 20 minutes to come up with, so what the hell.