This morn I pray to He Who is I Am,

And softly call to winged Angels high;

Please hear, the Son, then forced to be the Lamb:

My heart shall fall in loss that finds me nigh.

In day I look to Men to salve my pain,

Attraction holds my hand, my lips, my eyes

To mortal love, for which, my blood does stain

Yet never staunch the burn of fruitful lies.

'Tis night, Daemonic lust doth swiftly steal

On leather wings, to darkened, fiendish thoughts.

As skin and sweat doth quench my vein’s appeal,

My lips can never slate what Slander brought.

Did He give love to Sons and Daughters both,

Or Men and Tempter bore the dreadful oath?

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