The untittled
Golden red days in the meadow do starve,
Happy too, the warning of eternal death,
for life is to forever our soul carve,
So that we may move on to a new breathe.
And in new breathe with new eyes see the flaw,
And in new eyes to see the beautiful;
The newborn eyes do come with growing claw
And mind with curiosity to mull.
Could we be wrong to our heart for trying
And following the grooves made in our soul,
or must more do we create in lining
to render naked minds in deeper pool.
For those pools made by secrets and time
create a history that seems much more than mine sublime.
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