His mind resides on the edge
To obsession’s pledge.
He’ll never realize
He is making the suffering,
And not the love.
Why make her wield the pain, on her eyes?
Why sever the thing that could still make sanity flourish?
It is in the eyes,
Innocence.
Fear is on its opposite end,
And each tear drops to the world’s end.
I say to fight for love,
Though, to fight for it without clarity,
Bakes the bread of insanity.
Modern Romanticism 
Leave a Reply