*And the heart messed up with precious moments
with no reason to get hurt itself,
Ecstasy brought it the pleasure of fake components
Which help it residing to the new-corners of book-shelf
Old, dusty, & rotten pages of books
serve it a real nice pleasant scents of its artistry,
As the time ticked by with looks
It goes emerged into the words of literacy
****No more hurt, No more love
Only the memories of past
seem to be saved to the broken-heart****
The heart always gets hurt,
no matter if it treats the love right,
Love makes the heart brutal, faithless, & nerd
which costs it further with much price
****So, the heart decides not to get fallen in fake love
again 'n again,
Seasons come every year so the rain... with pain****
Love's fake, but the true love ain't, so are we
Love makes the hues of heart desperate so do we
What's lost and whatsoever just found
Love ain't a thing that's meant to be sepulchred “under” the grave of conspired-ground
****And, by the end, the heart makes all the old and new books
its noble friends...
which pat on its flesh, & make it running along new-trends****
Dusk falls down, Night comes down
It slept away, & the morn appears around
And the heart gets spoken;
It says,
“It feels good thinking 'bout new-lit
& forgetting everything even all the pleasure off sin,
Literature becomes the beat; a passion, No more spit
Now I re-start off the life... living along wisdom, I admit."*
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
*And the heart messed up with precious moments
with no reason to get hurt itself,
Ecstasy brought it the pleasure of fake components
Which help it residing to the new-corners of book-shelf
Old, dusty, & rotten pages of books
serve it a real nice pleasant scents of its artistry,
As the time ticked by with looks
It goes emerged into the words of literacy
****No more hurt, No more love
Only the memories of past
seem to be saved to the broken-heart****
The heart always gets hurt,
no matter if it treats the love right,
Love makes the heart brutal, faithless, & nerd
which costs it further with much price
****So, the heart decides not to get fallen in fake love
again 'n again,
Seasons come every year so the rain... with pain****
Love's fake, but the true love ain't, so are we
Love makes the hues of heart desperate so do we
What's lost and whatsoever just found
Love ain't a thing that's meant to be sepulchred “under” the grave of conspired-ground
****And, by the end, the heart makes all the old and new books
its noble friends...
which pat on its flesh, & make it running along new-trends****
Dusk falls down, Night comes down
It slept away, & the morn appears around
And the heart gets spoken;
It says,
“It feels good thinking 'bout new-lit
& forgetting everything even all the pleasure off sin,
Literature becomes the beat; a passion, No more spit
Now I re-start off the life... living along wisdom, I admit."*
