Deserted

Who are we to blame in this crucial crime
Of tenderness and bliss, of fortune and sin?
For our reach is of mere our own hands guiding us
The way to the broken meadow
With nothing beside us but our own shadow,
In the silence no one shall lead the way.
Our crime is just and must be done with.
For such like us are lovers who seek the shelter of hope and comfort,
The founding stones of which, we with our blood, put to work.
Our journey is of patience and virtue,
No gold or silver one can extract.
Sleepless nights, hunger and thirst shall accompany our lives,
As we work to shield the lovers who defy the world.
For such o world you must pave their ways,
Their dignity restored shall only sum up to their pacified world,
I today for such lovers vow to die,
My death, my sacrifice history must know,
These lovers, such who fear, shall never be thrown.