Authentic

AUTHENTIC There should be a doorway to love - Some scabbard-hungry sabre to declare What is not mine, is yours Bawling infant of the bawdy air, Trinketing loneliness into the poor’s Ardent threshold set with jewels rare - Beryl and ruby; a diamond lures Only the owner and not the loved pair. Be one with the child of my cures You are, you are the authentic heir. Be with me, child of the midnight hours, Be thou my confession in the mode of care. Love me to death, my own creative power, Be my own child, beyond compare.