Time may have paced in lights;
in lights dimmed by my pauses
before midnights of wet September,
even auroras won my losses;
these blankets of dried figments
like skeletons poorly given chance
to soar the hills of pumpkin colors;
never my wandering had even danced;
ceasing shall be this beauty;
these passages of colored rhymes
as the moist sidewalks of sprinkled
parchment
decorated peace like misty shine;
for I've never loved this gently,
I've never written this loose
like withered petals for a rebirth
in loving memory's absent woes;
whose loving be loved therefore;
whose verses do fiercely scratch;
one heart that listens the slashing
nimbus,
though fragile, never hatch;
wishing truth to caress kindly,
besides wuthering mindful guards
within heart's willing captivation,
despite contrasting cards;
but keep me loving;
keep me kneeling before love,
keep your pearly gates wide open,
keep me feeling I'm enough;
for what beyond this I'm able
never distance, never my silence,
never forgetting, never-memories
though madly tragic, I'm blindin'.
