And she laid her head soft upon his lap,
shutting those charcoal eyes that saw his heart
while they merely allowed time to elapse.
They say this children, is where we find art.
Brushing bold upon the cursed arrow
he looked and saw nothing but the solace
of one whose view has become but narrowed
upon a utopia; this polis.
He said: "hello, my dear, my love, my pet.
Perhaps one day our lord shall love us yet"
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
And she laid her head soft upon his lap,
shutting those charcoal eyes that saw his heart
while they merely allowed time to elapse.
They say this children, is where we find art.
Brushing bold upon the cursed arrow
he looked and saw nothing but the solace
of one whose view has become but narrowed
upon a utopia; this polis.
He said: "hello, my dear, my love, my pet.
Perhaps one day our lord shall love us yet"
