Our battle is a dark dance
encircling virtuoso's silhouettes...

These chills obfuscate my passion,
the yearning I had saved in Your sanctuary...

I always sketch our memories from a morning's...
where a plethora of birds look beyond their sleepy...

Healing finds harmony where rivers echo
Enduring rain and promises too immersed...

I am unlike a raindrop
heavy with lament...

I talk as one that complains about windows,
too receptive to the day's award...

On that day you peacefully passed
from your family...

It is a quarter 'til ten
and I am alive on the inside...

Oh God!
I know writing these words...

Our lips gradually reunite
after empty mornings of waste...

Scenery from my door
begs in high quality accents...

Envious wind snakes around our necks;
it breaks its own boundaries to terminate us...