My Angel

There she stands, the angel,
on level ground, yet looking down on the rest,
gliding, she moves all she does touch,
But I shall not fall prey to such witchcraft!
these lips shall not pleasure her
as those smiling lips of all whom engulf her.
kneeling are all those whom ever beheld the angel,
weak victims of mere elegance are but men,
I am above such fools as this,
those whom hold their heart in open hand,
Beauty she sees in their shadowed eyes,
but no such beauty will she see in me!
My angel is lost. And i am without.
Perfection is hers, yet it is brought by the devil!
Oh what wo is this, when she can not be had?
No stains may i leave on her white dress,
as she is a prize no man can gain...
and yet she is a prize worthy or mine time.
My angel shall havet' see reason,
Or else doomed shall she be to point she came;
Strangled and banished this refusal of me be!
It will not be endured from mine grandeur.
Round her throat shall none elegant hands be clasped
until my angels choir is stopped forever.
Alas, gone is the torture on me, and now:
My angel is my own.