Katsuki's Book of Poems

Lost Paradise

That feeling,

It shot out of Pandora's Box.
It shrank away and got lost,
within the shadow of a cross.

That feeling,
She can't put her finger on it.
She tried to navigate around it,
but she got sucked through it.

She can't attach a name to it.
She tried her best to forget it.
But she simply can't ignore it.

What can't be touched by her burnt hand,
taught not to hang her heart on the prize.
The prospect of her scorch and his demand,
she respect the behavior of the chameleon,
is enough to break the promise of paradise.

That feeling,
She can taste the flavor of it.
He can hear the rhythm of it.
Neither can dream to keep it.

That feeling,
It ricochets in his sick head.
It lingers in his empty bed,
Just to wind up dead again.

So he can't provide it.
He's tried to correct it,
but he can't cement it.

What can't be warmed by his cold hand,
taught not to hang his heart on the wall.
The prospect of his freeze and the reason,
that he can't move close and her confusion,
is enough to decide the direction of the fall.

What can't be handled by the broken hand,
that's taught not to put devotion on the line.
For the symphony of an unpredictable hand,
that was orchestrated by the hatred of man,
is enough to break the promise of paradise.

What can't be grasped by bleeding and bitten hands,
forced to abjure true love's touch and comfort's price.
The prospect of a thwarting and irrationally driven demands,
that respect be given to what the other can't fully understand,
is enough to dispel the notion of hearts ever reaching paradise.