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In balconied frail and the serene of such state of forlorn,
Gentle wind's a fiend of mine where breathing's nothing but a thorn.
Desolating and arduous, at the back of heavy sighs;
Missing light as seen from the acatalepsy of those eyes.
From wishing stardust to fascinating northern lights,
Fading feelings and thoughts with gray or astounding dark nights,
Becoming lightweight vehemence with the touch of faux pas,
We've been painting galaxomas though haunted by Mizpah.
And just like the tears and stars; with courage, he'll fall for you
Until the blazing knight like rested with crimson in blue.
As hyacinth, I will always be there with all these hues,
Ambience and to breathe zephyrous; better to lose my shoes.
You empty the sky leaving me only the cards of somberness,
Now I am in grief but still, writing your name as an amorist.
