To have witnessed youth, twilight woods shingle a blackened rose.
Yet blind speculations of blood, we drown. Tilted arms, hollow reflections within harmonious waves of spirited inflections.
A blackened rose
A blackened rose
Deeply I contemplate the transient nature of human life.
Realizing from beginning to end, life is impermanent such as an illusion.
Delusions of grandeur?
Truthful as time?