I have no urge to steal from you a moment.
No urge of tears shed in blood.
No time, of fading away by separation,
no longing, will ever make my soul to die.
No traveller like me in lonesome steps
has ever climbed that stony hill,
nor ever fallen down like icy hail
on the bare neck, to brake down my will.
I have no urge in settle down my life.
No urge to stand aside, just for looking,
no in the middle of the fight I capture
the rest of a glare from my passing time.
My urge is now a race in taming
the great passion of that never ending loss
the urge of ever understanding
that heart, that makes me a burning torch.
In this my urge I hid the midnight shyness
the ties of blood that hold me safe
that flash that sparkle in my hot palms
when urging the look
and the eyes of your brightness.
December 2015 ©k.c.