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Rose Adams


Oh true pilgrim, why do your eyes not love?

Am I truly that monster of the night?

A black raven in the midst of a dove,

Shunned into the dark shadows by his light.

He does not know I live for he exists,

Not in the eyes of love and devotion,

For friendship desperately persists

Forcing away his hidden attraction.

Death I beg, take me by your hand tonight

As my unrequited love hath no end,

It stays cold and wounded, it does not fight,

Away in a dark place, never to mend.

To burn with desire and keep it hidden,

Is a monstrous act, never forgiven.