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Dedication to Omar Khayyam

Would that I could sleep tonight
and n'er awake again;
and shackled to my soul, could take
the harbinger of pain;
that catalytic virus now
which burrows like a screw,
entwines itself like poison
on what was pure as dew.

For if I did not love you,
then I would never care,
and never would I worry,
or your pain then have to share;
but it is done... I love you;
and the dark side I must know
until the temporal course is through;
when all the pain will go.

Why is it thus, that love must have
its dark side like the Moon,
or rust beneath a painted sheen
which shows itself so soon ?

Ah love! Could we conspire
to grasp this sorry scheme,
and mould it in a fashion more
conducive to our dream !

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