A bitter fruit I pluck and cannot
swallow, two weeks of conscience
ended
hollow
I carry a seed of love to grow and
last, murdered alas by swords of
lust
Spring was blossoming beneath my
heart, now carried on my sleeve
like fall’s
art
I chose true love to wait like
blissful
cheers, failed a thousand times
with dry
tears
How will I face the flowers of my
soul, washed anew in pure scarlets
of
gold
Shall I torture my weak thorns of
flesh, surrender I shall and put it
to
rest
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