| Current mood: | irritated |
| Current music: | Sarah Brightman- Figlio Perduto |
Nothing better to do than post a writing.
Unfold, and to Perfection
A struggling vision
We tame these words with
Love light spoiled ruins
And I, with my audacity
I come to you with nothing more
Than empty, hallowed
Regrets.
Humming feebly; a lost hymn
Each breath a cloud
Frosting fractals on the glass
Implanting runes, with warm,
Loving hands.
We are just an illusion of a
Bitter lost perception.
A story sung to the highest hilltops
And in this final chapter, we know
We are gone, because we were never here
”I” is “we” is as it is
And never in between.
Who am I to search the stages
That which connects our minds with our hearts
Here in our winter, lost without answers,
Lessons unlearned, because we are unkept
Because we are scattered
Were we torn, as to pieces,
Of microscopic matter?
Our numbers are our patterns,
The language we speak,
Though we remain unheard of
Yet we are uncountable,
Much like the stars
Coveted, blanketed,
Yet shrill on my canvas
I await for you, to bury me soundly
Glittering, ravishing
Solar reflections
Mold and unfold me,
Will mold and unfold me…
Unconcerned we are,
Unaffected we are,
Humbled by a,
Long lost embrace,
We are.
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