Of beauty, I could sing a thousand songs...
Of beauty, I could write a thousand books...
And of the tears
As time slowly
Erodes it,
Eats its
Face away
This story goes
Just like the one
About our
Grip on
This short life
The direction
Goes in one sense
Of utterly
Slow decay
Ex nihilo
Nihil fit,
So it was, it will be and will stay
We are wind swept
Tiny wisps
In the dark armadas of the gray
Fading embers
Only that
In the twilight of a dying day
Fading embers...
...Boreas
What purity could there in emotion be
That it only seeks to flame the ember
And thus chars our little brittle rest
What relief could lay in the closing of the day
In that blackened body, with burnt eyes and heart
Where in silence all which once was, once again, does drift apart...
Of beauty, I could sing a thousand songs...
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