It was a beautiful piece, and I had of it peace,
Blaring in mind violins, cuddling in self-shadowed loins,
If there were of her tears, then drowned were them in beers,
Punished a son, a livery of a burnishing sun,
Pain………………
What must be it then? A heart in direction of ten?
Devoured I but a moose, self-set upon a noose,
Upon a cloud of fog much I lost, watered eyes on hailing
frost,
Beats that never count, aches that forever mount,
Left but to hide in
grey alleys, laughter scare of decamped allies,
But so shall I have my way, upon a king’s tray,
Hope………..
And to that day, I keep to my way,
Torn fingers upon a harps’ string, strumming to the bitter
sting,
And be death beats I to the line, then I shall seek of lie
under a pine,
Listen to the beauty of peace, while the cloaked shreds this
flesh to the last of piece……………….
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