O dearest,wonderful love
in the sweet air of maiden spring
Pardon me,but I will speak today,
Of your innocent kisses of scorn
Don’t let me speak today,
and don’t let me cry,
But my dear,I shall speak today
until my neglected teardrops sorely dry.
O mistress of paradise,you are selfish;
as the luminous flame inveigling a moth,
You are but a sonorous perjurer;
Neat and perfect
and they let their hearts wander till stagnancy,
Among your fairy-tales of false truth.
You are embossed with the finest art
the art of elogiac sacrifices;
and all that remain behind
are just the withered vines.
You make a fugitive of one’s spirit
who drives and leads the mind into battle,
a battle for love
For it’s red petals,
to be decorated further in ceaseless drops of red,
O’ daughter of the heavens
carrier of enigmatic beauty,
You are the silent slaughterer
with an appetite for another mournful scene,
You are immaculate,you are bold
As the grains of sand and a puff of smoke;
deceiving and hard to hold.
Dreams shatter like an earthquake’s ravage
and the mind still wanders,thinking
If you would resort it someday;
in your warmest dormitory.
Yet still,you are beautiful
sharing the carnal fruit of passion,
when you yourself are,
in an undying love with your victims.
amongst all things bright and beautiful.
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