The romance With the resplendence. The wild eyes, The miserable cries. The wilderness, The loneliness, The bewilderment Of one set of lips Far enough to hear its sigh, Never close enough to taste. Her wind is let through cold Of my window. Her drear is a pressure so dear That I wish to call myself the defeatist. Kindness Seems to have Begotten loneliness, Surging sadness, Blinded by my tears, Blanketed by my fears Under this cold soil of my death. Buried beside an ocean, Waiting for the tide, Waiting for the time When I can confide. Startle me, Oh thunder.