My stance ran as though caring,
carrying – the cause:
not that one
more—a beauty,
could never exist,
but that one could not exist more... My Dream
–Pure Order with a Classical Lend,
I'm her lave
left wondering,
"If I am the point
of Life
For that
for–at your place...
...'n hand."

Not destructive in even its most primal of stages
as 'Whether I've a position
to interest you all,'
I was there but never sought it...
(and Why were you not tempted,..
Strength of Will?)...
It never changed.

As if from a dais–
now-'n-with... jessant attention,
my view threatens,
imperils stasis,
favors only This Beauty,
as if only Good
never declare
Cogent end.