Untitled

Tears can be rose pedals

Like sweat from the hearts toil

More than autumn’s chill

To dull the edge from winter

 

In every utterance, frozen pleasure

That kissed away the summer heat

And formed on ample lips

Only to breathe the coldest winds

 

A stagnate dogma, repeated balefully

Shouted to the sky

That it might move the stoic gods

And push from them their majesty 

 

Pompously pragmatic, they sit

Laughing at this dancing wretch

His burden he lays before them

Bare, to their cold hearts

 

And in this the rose pedals fall

Like tears upon the ground

Littering the garden, that once grew

Majestic as ideals, and just as unsteady  

 

Reviews

[the nothing]

exelent write while reading i found my self in a kindda a day dream as stated before exelent write