 | Mindsets of violent thoughts haunt me in the night
Morbid sparks of dying, weak hearts
arises under the hazy,crying moonlight
---The irony of love's clean start.
Just when black crows turned themselves from shady to white
Horrid white lady takes it 'way.
Away from my two soft hands -- now she hears my plight
dancing through blung sounds of black days.
Days of mourning came to my doorstep, furious like
rancid woes of the setting sun
Nights of shining armor rotted with weak sword strikes
'neath the cold dark winter's fun
Black inks cannot undermine one's hard rotten heart
--blind to reality shining
Frail to deep emotions of wretched heart's desire
--deft to love's call, ever so scorching.
Stench of moning glory flows smooth with the dawn's air
listening to love's aching woe
Molding deeper thoughts of what morning has in store
stanced to stay but ready to go... |  |
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