Sitting in Michael's Lap
What heart entreats, I fear I cannot be --
Nor speak the words that hope demands to hear;
For such would trust my happiness to thee,
And christen thee as one I must revere.
Though innocent and pure thou might appear,
A blessing of the heavens' lofty hand,
Thine eyes endanger all I hold as dear:
For I am but a slave to their demand.
Upon my soul, in mastery you stand --
I cannot from my mind this sight erase --
Thine eyes burn not with love, but cold command:
And naught but cruel intentions in your face!
For love's facade, no favor shall I spare:
There are much kinder means to court despair!
You cannot choose the way of your death, but the path you choose will determine its own end.