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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1922135
Left are only ashes after a tragic trauma. But even then, hope engulfs the flare.
O'Flares and ashes, greatness of gold fields,
Come and take me to the heavens above,
I know not of nothing, hope acts like shields,
Drown in love or be in mid air thereof.

Virgin crimson of beauty ever so fair,
Love how light turns to blindness for today,
Wish romance molded into perfect square,
Shall I ever beg to be lead astray?

Tell me not of truth, for my blood tastes it,
Bitterness of ashes turns to flare's roar,
I shall bring you to that orchestra pit,
That melody will send you to my door.

Even after death, hopes remain my love,
For this love,surely not unworthy of.
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