I confess that I got strayed,
By the bees in home-made marmalade;
By your smiles, perfected to never fade…
While you flew through your escapade,
I barely rode across on a horse of jade.
For you, it was a moment, intoxicated;
For me, a realm, where I stayed,
Where I stayed and till dawn, prayed:
Mercy, for the sake of earlier homage I’d paid,
For my soul to exempt of its evil cascade.
You laughed, as I wept at the irony to arrive,
That heals no one, keeps nobody alive.
My vision was mocked at, provoked to only thrive:
My life, more organic; only tiny pieces to contrive:
Unresolved pieces, pretending not to be alive!
Thus the anti-thesis begins to die in its birth,
Reborn every hour, like a child’s little play…
The innocent death it dies each night,
Followed by hope for a better day.
She was otherwise, but a hermit now;
In fear, not to break her precious vow.