She is the divinity;
of her own supreme world.
The translucent spot,
on a porcelain that is old.
She is the aftermath.
that followed a long day.
The upshot of everything;
gone along the way.
She above anyone;
is the reason why I write.
Tonight at this lonely;
only helped by the moonlight.
She is the hope;
of every heart that has ever loved.
Brings fate to every end;
the cause to what someone might have.
She who waits;
patiently for her own Apollo.
Will do whatever it takes;
and meet him with her bow.
She who moves the nephelae;
to every cover and pall.
The ominous to my reality;
was her blear and SHE.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
She is the divinity;
of her own supreme world.
The translucent spot,
on a porcelain that is old.
She is the aftermath.
that followed a long day.
The upshot of everything;
gone along the way.
She above anyone;
is the reason why I write.
Tonight at this lonely;
only helped by the moonlight.
She is the hope;
of every heart that has ever loved.
Brings fate to every end;
the cause to what someone might have.
She who waits;
patiently for her own Apollo.
Will do whatever it takes;
and meet him with her bow.
She who moves the nephelae;
to every cover and pall.
The ominous to my reality;
was her blear and SHE.
