In a false hope, so entirely whole,
in itself, being there only two possibilities to be achieved.
Ceremony is a most lacking quality under the circumstances.
Don't bind me to it, said the maiden in distress.
For the tolerance of mad egos comes only from a true foundation of love.
The fortress roots of the god given tree.
Picture this... a mountain path, a desert wind, truly, truly.
Such is the concept.
I eternally wish away the fetish that is sabotage.
Can it be pure?
Is it even known to any man?
The flakes that fall from the ever present storm are not
there for your enjoyment, but are.
The ceremony of myself to all this is patience and even then
too many of my friends have been sacrificed
to the must of my purple inferno.
I apologize for nothing except to remain
unselfish in my quest for a consort.
No comments:
Post a Comment