I feel we're living the last days of Versailles
As beauty fades before my eyes
Convinced as I am
The gods owe us time,
I'd destroy this world
To keep what's mine.

My universe is necrotising
As I stumble through ruins
And colour drains away.

I bargain for time...

Throughout the many lives we've lived before knowing only each time we return,
To experience full transfiguration
You have to be willing to burn.

I regard my attraction to language as an affair,
as a withstanding relation,
a product of indecorous communication.
This devotion has demanded a life of its own,
accepting my whole as its proxy.
Others won't understand this affinity.
They aren't familiar with the curving lilt of a domestic tongue,
Nor the taste of a verse fermented in the mouths of one's ancestors,
Surely not the stuttering moans of a mother dialect,
Yet the sharp sting of a jagged vernacular,
or the mastery and art behind the articulation of a single utterance.
This discourse developed over time,
I required maturation and growing before my notions aligned.
I felt eager upon observing the pervasive movements of great text
Which delivered a high known greater than ***.
It is true that I contemplated profoundly first,
before committing my desire and will to the whole of verse.
But now that my diction reflects the appeal of great literature and enamoring fiction
I couldn't be more satisfied.

Arising to your fascinating persona,
Sleeping to your colossal heart,
Gasping frantically, to reach the surface,
Trapped underneath the coldest ice, in the widest river,
Shivers down my spine,
Pins and needles through my heart,
Consuming me with fear,
Scared of the rapture,
Inner interrogation of mind,
Acquainting myself of new horizons,
But remaining lonesome and fearful,
Crumbling when in your presence,
Listen to my penance,
Would you be attuned,
To my vulnerable aching heart?