When the eye of God tours on moist surface;
It lits devotion. As I turn to face,
only his was open.
To open mine is forbidden.
The eye was born for us to feel,
not to meet or ours will be ill.
When my devotion burns into love;
I climbed the porch blinded, though tough.
steps far from my root,
I was never close. Tempted of eden fruit,
I meet his. In each petal, the heat feast.
"love is to cease, love is to not cease".
When only a speck left, before a speck could fry;
I shouted,"I guess I couldn't help trying to meet you eye to eye".
Ah damn! only one could agree,
It's the boy from a stoic mythology.
For love is to cease,
and love is to not cease.
