10-02-2013, 08:51 AM
The strangest meloncholy of space.
thy flickering soul, lighting my face.
Divinely warm, and chosen to be
describes only coldness, in a wind I can't see.
insanity, shuffled my spirit -
and for the wrong reasons I was lit.
mercy, the realization of it,
the sharpness of dark,
and the ubiquity of light.
Both of those fit.
When exhuming truth is an undergrowth of transfer,
Apathy is a warming and deceiving spur.
When mental exhaustion, is a hell left to wither,
A flower does not know how to shiver.
thy flickering soul, lighting my face.
Divinely warm, and chosen to be
describes only coldness, in a wind I can't see.
insanity, shuffled my spirit -
and for the wrong reasons I was lit.
mercy, the realization of it,
the sharpness of dark,
and the ubiquity of light.
Both of those fit.
When exhuming truth is an undergrowth of transfer,
Apathy is a warming and deceiving spur.
When mental exhaustion, is a hell left to wither,
A flower does not know how to shiver.