Fulfilled

Derailing the daedal, dauntless dawn into desolation;

Yet the roses still bloom,

In the garden they loom;

Nothing is the same as before,

Gone into the long-lost yore;

Detached disillusion of decayed data;

Remembering the days like sand;

Ephemeral temple falling to land;

Aristocrats scoff like that whispering zephyr;

Mourning a loss of an infinite measure;