The moon so bright, a glow of a vital bleeding life
tainted by rose red spikes,
blossom, blossom a moon
to a twirl,
blossom to a dirge in
dances of pirouette turns.
Far alone, a hut to a glade,
Moon, moon
lighten this rose red
dead of a heart's ache.
~NovaSiris
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Voices...voices everywhere...Voices in the mind...
The love that once was born can not die, for it has become part of us, of our life, woven into the very texture of our being. Each of us would wish to leave some part of ourselves, so here and now we bear witness...
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