Calmly under trusted branches I do sit
In this warm woodland of mine,
While flowers faint by my feet as their
breath is taken away by the peace around us.

Bees lazily drift pass me,
Dreaming of their life-giving nectar,
And I, too, imagine such bliss
Although mine takes on the shape of love -
Love I have never tasted,
But which brings light to my ever-blooming heart
all the same.

Suddenly vivid wind sweeps into my woodland
Blowing my hair and my thoughts away -
Away from those hazy dreams of mine
That only come alive in my mind.

The worshipers gather in droves
at her feet like a clamouring congregation,
Desperate to begin the ceremony of the
giving and taking of love;
A burning love which only she can radiate.

Shamelessly they lie there,
Basking in her seductive warmth
Blessed at her selflessness while they
selfishly adorn themselves with her splendour,
Taking and taking until she cannot bear it anymore.

Soon she scorns them to the point where her
red ire is clear for all to see,
Blemishing the golden happiness she bestows upon them -
A burning love which only she can turn to pain.

And so it ended.
The beginning of the chapter already
torn apart like it was a false start,
the paper confetti scattering in the wind.
Our lead bodies drag across an endless sheaf
searching for the right metaphor, yet we
splinter and stagger instead.
We scribble around each other, our words intertwined yet
apart, neither of us knowing when we would
rhyme again.
And so this narrative goes on, in the hope that
someday we will be on the same page with the
right ending.