Vivir sin sentir sería un sinsentido.

Vivir sin sentir sería un sinsentido.
The flower that blooms last is the most rare and beautiful of all.

Friday 6 January 2017

Regret.

Over the laundered carpet where his footsteps gaited
Right where the miscreant shadow seemed to bend
He glimpsed the radiant spheres where the necromancer waited
Her eyes, two charcoal rings woolly bears came to fend. 
Defunct inside a promenade of rotting fantasy
Composedly she rested
The gleaming sapphires trapped him under dreams he could not see 
Coquette, his siren left, with nothing but ribcage vested. 
Such harshness pierced his reflection, now aching and throbbing
He had known his hands and words could her pureness offend
A vixen caught her eye and listened to prayers calling
A lullaby she sang to help her bruises mend.
But in exchange she conquered the innocents, his brothers,
She snatched them all and left him, as he watched her ascend 
Hence in his arms into dreams she drifted, his lover 
And all alone he wanders, in a world detrained. 
Fifty years have passed and still no wrinkle on his face
No other humans left, his mirror his one true friend 
Thus even Death abandoned him, breaking into a race 
As he lives in the darkness of existence with no end. 

Addah Monoceros.

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