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IF THIS MELODY IS A MALADY



 BY MIDE BENEDICT 

She turned me into an artist i didn't really want to be; drawing Images of her on walls every time i think and blink.

 I wrote her name in my every book; so when gone we are 
Nations will admire this love of mine.
For books are Nymphs of eternity.

 Great poems of emotions engraved her name in itself.
So when others read, they would fall in love again
And again and again and again.
For they are poems from Cupid's soul.

 Like two rivers mixed together, her soul and mine are one;
One never to part as long as life breathes us out of its nostril and back in.

 She turned me into a puppet, speaking her every wish like my mouth In her hand it dwelt.
She made me her heart; 
And I made her mine: when am gone she stops.
When she's gone I stop.

 Over again and again my love for her will fall.
Deep and deep shall it be; not a rope shall reach.

 I will bargain her for my kingdom; if that's what it takes
To have her by my side, even if the world is done.

 I will wage war against the universe for her sake, though in it I dwell.
With sword, my hand shall strike death's wrist, if to fight her body From soil's stretching hands, let that war-story be told.
I will rescue her from thorns, even if stuck my body will be.
For kingdoms I will work for years, if Isaac's fate my own would see.
I will be her groom, forever, Since one we have become.

 But if this melody is a malady, then let me not be well.
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