The morning filters orange? I'd say red.
Does colour really matter to us, the dead?
Promises, prophecies, and hidden visions
Have left their bitter incisions.
The black of my hollowed eyes have lost their sheen,
And this morning's lament bleeds me deep.
The soul has been emptied and uncleaned
And this morning has witnessed the death of my dreams.
Weigh words in gold
And meaning in diamonds,
Life exists on paper,
Legal, A4 and Bond.
---
Winter freezes me over
One last time,
For the rains bring forth
Whispers of destiny...
But spring brings forth a vivid beauty,
A beauty of age and mature love...
Love for the alma mater.
---
And this dance, done right
Takes away my rage, my light...
Swaying in the pale moonlight
This happy tale I write...
