Rose few, in the hate we fed
Rose acts, when charisma is a pout
Rose timid, with a live for all ahead
Round eyes of decorum, vice in a wandering hope
Let to take, a tryst of potential...
Long if tooth, a wholesome day to arrive with our own
Here is my naivete, and a steads sulking breeze so beautiful...
When the world is rounder for a secret asking, to fulfil...
Promise me, a livid course, a golden truth
To the wanted more, when we are a soul of will
The tone of our voice, becomes the drama and decency of accepting youth?
Sophistication in a moment alone, with the weight of the world
Seemingly not, before the needs of others, worth is a means to amends...?
And the coltish example of the future, a repose of justness so early
That a miracle in the form of a wish, is a simplicity we lend?
Tales of the reach, the romance of curious senses
And the heart of essence, we know even will...
When boding hours are to be, the callous works of a world come to ends
With a handful of what miracles were, a common where to the liberty of silence, so real
What so wrong with a door knocked by a time with no bitterness; lies or lovers?