Of the Words that Come to Thee No More...

(For the words that don't come to me...)

For those songs and words,

that in thee descend no more,

or maybe unravel with,

a painful acknowledgement no more,

For the false deeds done,

And unfaithful propositions made.

Thy shall burden thy soul,

For love that was felt, but no more.

Oh you, you the soul,

Of painful relish,

and lustful beauty...

You the only faithful friend of thee...

I shall be telling this for ages and hence:

Oh hey you! With aching chest and liberating breath,

You are the one carrying heart of fire:

That made summer's sun to dwell,

In thy meadows of thoughts.

But now as thee gathers,

Pieces of torn winter,

and rays of summer bits,

Yet in the memory of that sun,

That dwells in thee no more

Thy rather would wait centuries,

For those songs and words,

That come to thee no more...