The roses of ambience buds thorns
Unto an ally it is given,
But welcomed is grief at doorstep;
Confluence of thoughts and feelings is seared
By the rod of schism.
Breath of the dawn is marred
By the knife of Brutus,
Alike was Judas' kiss
As wisps of memories goes fading into clouds, -
Ah! Et tu,...?
As he falls to sleep in pool of red.
The gale of tears is locked in chambers;
Down the walls have been broken by heart's closest
-
Beyond mend and leaves them in tatters.
