It was not
Roses
and fields strewn with
sunlight and summer breezes it was
Sitting at the foot of waterfalls, being
pelted by a concentrated rain.
It may be cowardly to restrain love like a secret,
But I am in a warring state: the battle of my eyes
to tear themselves from the ground
And meet the face and the voice I’ve so come to adore;
How do I see?
in the darkness of a night
induced by disagreed sources of light;
Misdirected attention;
The shade of unrequited affection?
What is the substance of cowardice, then?
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
It was not
Roses
and fields strewn with
sunlight and summer breezes it was
Sitting at the foot of waterfalls, being
pelted by a concentrated rain.
It may be cowardly to restrain love like a secret,
But I am in a warring state: the battle of my eyes
to tear themselves from the ground
And meet the face and the voice I’ve so come to adore;
How do I see?
in the darkness of a night
induced by disagreed sources of light;
Misdirected attention;
The shade of unrequited affection?
What is the substance of cowardice, then?
