there are two, aren’t there,

there are two, aren’t there,
who bring an end to mischief
and place chaos in the eye of the beholder;

he saw her bloom like the bloom of the tree of roses,
but she says every sunrise must fall,
and makes the tides crash, hum and moan.

and so the young prince of the skies,
would pout with most honest contempt
at what the world merely called wrong.

then whoever came next,
he’s to blame for the rhythm of a system and the
coldness of the wind across your brow.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s