I held the beauty my eyes couldn't capture
blooms with the colors of sweet melancholy.
wild petals caught in the winds to drift forever
leaving its roots which stems from the burning honey.
The lush which surrounds all that was dim
not a motion or a word, yield and to surrender.
Being the silence of mad, yet suddenly I whim
in the midst of being a fool; I allow her to plunder.
Longing for the brilliance of nothing
if not love to sound but hate to act;
wrath upon self rather to each be catering.
As the flowers alone and sheltered, die in the shadowing.
Hearing the groans of the night
such agony, she's the distance and lust.
Of a moon to hear I stand within its blight
I wait for her, with trust and my heart gravest.
The tender hand to hold, beg it from thee
for the last of a memory?.......
Or wander and keep my eyes as puffy
above and float, oh... how I do loathe she.