For those with another, without any real love,
for how you have fallen for life’s cruel tricks,
another giggle from mocking time. Things fall
apart, is what death tells me as the poet cries,
forming articulated words of love. For how things
sway me. But not in faith that real love exists.
Knowing not what to decide, those idles who
provide a veil of love, or those who suffer by
following that veil, with red robes and a mind of
hope.
(knowledge variable)