Rough Paper

My love is not a lusty flash
Of my self-love's rough murderous fire,
Or any other mad desire
Or any else flammable trash
That people somehow named "love" -
I love You with it's real sense
And all my life comes from thereof,
This magic, perfect, great thing- hence :
If i will ever bring You pain
(In heart, in soul, in flesh, or rain
With heavy, harsh, mad, lying words
Or prick with just one foul sword
Of language - which's the servant of
His Lord and mine only - Love)
Or work for Love a little less
And let ill lazyness depress
My love and give less me to it -
If You can see this little bit,
Till I'm not conquerored by the vice
And not came yet beneath it's ice
That let's light not come under it -
If You feel I get in this shit,
And give way to rude hate, rude greed
And all the rough and awful stuffs
That wear the Love in me handcuffs
And give it poison; feed to ill
That push me to the rude, wrong will
That holds us like a fisherman
In his strong hand his poor caught fish...
...Then punch me harder than You wish -
All this not lies in mine plan.
And I'll be grateful for Your aid,
If won't be blinded by some hate,
In this bad case my thank comes late!





Then punch me harder than You wish -
Those shits lie not in my plan