In verse you found an unspoken truth,
not confined by reason, religion or morals.
You gave and sought the return of love,
that came from within you, born in your soul.
You wrote sonnets and the moon understood.
The one you gave your scarlet to understood
only vanity as a mask for beauty.
The surface feeling of flesh was not your soul.
The sweetness of sorrow was your everlasting truth.
The thing that dare not speak its name, love,
buried by unseen beliefs others called morals.
Disgrace in your heart, a broken figure, sculpted by morals
pulled from a parchment the ancients understood.
Created from the hands of man without love,
ideals of faith covered in fabricated beauty,
preaching a tragic, false truth,
replaced passion with mourning in your soul
Carnations of green were your morals.
Within each petal held the fearless truth.
To live for pleasure and suffer for sorrow understood,
a darker scarlet revealing the price of beauty.
Without suffering there can not be love.
Man was a symbol, nature was God and suffering was love.
From the de profundis of your soul,
came a pure and naked beauty,
sacrificed in the brutal light of meaningless morals.
It was not you, who needed to be understood.
It was those who feared an ugly self –truth.
You found suffering to be the truth,
and art through sorrow created a deeper love.
The cold comfort of seclusion you understood,
while panthers feasted on your soul,
dining on a bitter meal of humility and morals.
You found suffering was its own beauty.
You didn’t seek to find truth, for it was already in your soul.
You sought the pleasure of love and received the pain of morals.