Yesterday's forgotten burning scars
Adorning arms lit by tomorrow's twilight,
with love that can't be soothed by any holy skylight,
their bearer wants one just to watch the stars
And with the music of ambivalent guitars,
the contemplation so immortal through the night,
the comic contrast of perfection and of blight,
so paradoxically affecting his ideal farce
Who knows, perhaps someday he'll see
The reason why to know what's sweet
Can bitter up a life in light of inner trouble
And otherwise relaxing cup of tea
Becomes an elongated contemplation of defeat
That locks him in his ego's crooked bubble
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment