As leaves and wind hit the scorch of the kind
The torment of the picture prickles the eye
As pandemonium stirs the decay of the mind
It is all of thee regretted but openly defied
The openness and suggestive freedom
Suspecting its power, the affection to write of
To be able to transmit love and to hang on
To experience its kindness, something more than just package love
To that little something it's wished to devour
But yet the dagger remains
A gaping left chest hole and a spirit sunk through the floor
Emotional feelings are truly true virtues to attain
To attain and obtain, are immorally incomprehensible
As Chinese in its traditional forms they disperse
Never to be mended as one, splitted indefensible
Getting older, but the story of life remains in reverse
Imperatively abstaining is acknowledged
Doubtful proceedings intertwined with diminutive hope
Appearance serene but thoughts carefully edged
It is I who mope.
