In hidden garden under moonlight glow, lilies gleam
Along the path of one who lingers lonely there
Emotions and thoughts; manifestation of passion’s death and dream
Shadowy glimmer of dark mist; what has and will be; beware
This apparition, in solemn presence, its own eyes lit with raging storm
Self loathing transfixed; desolate and grim, but for passion and sorrow
Thoughts waging tireless war upon emotions that will not conform
Hope springs anew a tiny flicker just the same, on the morrow
With loathing, bitter sweet the struggle arises, fought with no reserve
New seeking to bury old, to forget; imparting tears and faux strength
Thoughts seek to command emotions that will not serve
This conflict fueled with pain, sorrow, joy and hope to what length
Coming forth, they come, gaunt and ghastly sad and painted
They come, deep dark crimson wrecks of despair and betrayals grime
Faces seared with hatred fresh, haunting eyes, with vision tainted
See them, awash in red, labelled with date and time
Each night in dream or nightmare’s fitful embrace; lost love, hope, joy
They join, forming that one, but a shadow of self, for remembrance
Time and again loved and labored, they played with emotions like a toy
Tossed aside when interest lost, slaughtered anew, with indifference
~Wes Noneya
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
In hidden garden under moonlight glow, lilies gleam
Along the path of one who lingers lonely there
Emotions and thoughts; manifestation of passion’s death and dream
Shadowy glimmer of dark mist; what has and will be; beware
This apparition, in solemn presence, its own eyes lit with raging storm
Self loathing transfixed; desolate and grim, but for passion and sorrow
Thoughts waging tireless war upon emotions that will not conform
Hope springs anew a tiny flicker just the same, on the morrow
With loathing, bitter sweet the struggle arises, fought with no reserve
New seeking to bury old, to forget; imparting tears and faux strength
Thoughts seek to command emotions that will not serve
This conflict fueled with pain, sorrow, joy and hope to what length
Coming forth, they come, gaunt and ghastly sad and painted
They come, deep dark crimson wrecks of despair and betrayals grime
Faces seared with hatred fresh, haunting eyes, with vision tainted
See them, awash in red, labelled with date and time
Each night in dream or nightmare’s fitful embrace; lost love, hope, joy
They join, forming that one, but a shadow of self, for remembrance
Time and again loved and labored, they played with emotions like a toy
Tossed aside when interest lost, slaughtered anew, with indifference
~Wes Noneya