I am loneliest than I've ever been

To See

In between a waterfall,
And a valley
There will always be a forest
With an outlying alley

Alongside the remote track
Will always be there
Lilies with hundreds of crack
On their petals, and their leaves are bare

Out in the coldness
They could not see their reflections
While they hold beauty like a duchess
Due to lack of affection

Oh,
The had eyes
But yet their wish
Is to see whatever lies
Between grasses and goodbyes

To see what hold them up
Against the strong push of the winds

To see themselves
Strong against life

c, b. e. w~
December 23th, 2013

World's Sketch From Distinct Black Ink

Grey glass bowl and sparkling words
Under a red moon and star stitches
Things look grim and, sweetheart,
For fear even, they saddened it.

The grey glass bowl
Knows nothing about the red moon
Only sometimes from the sparkling words,
That are noticeable, since they glow
Like strings of the star stitches

The sparkling words
Are religion to the grey glass bowl
The way they blow out weak gleams
They stole from star stitches
And air of wonder from the red moon.

Above, sweetheart,
Those are frictions of things and their stories
Inside of human limits, inside of the burden
Our solar system has

Inside of wrongs and rights,
Limitations, they all are

Shrines Sailing

Meet her. The girl of blue and red. Author of black letters that turned to scarlet. Hashing her own heartstrings on a stiff cabinet. A statue waiting to be led.

Meet him. A series of light leather and frozen flame.  Hair warm as bed, heart cold as bad aim. Waking up tired of shame. Running from troubles he never overcame.

Meet them. Earth walker, jumping silently on mischief and tragedy. Thief of illusions. Holding hands without even meeting each other. Like east and west, up and down, but beaming.

They hold on to their shrines
Through a wall that is time
Keeping them apart
Even when they locked each of their heart