Under the lost moon, waning crescent.
Retreating a pawn, along the basin.
Mighty are the mountains, that drain the land athirst,
or Is mightier the ocean, possessing nature's weeping?
And as I move along,
stiff breezes come cheer me, yell at me as I go deep through the valley of grudge, tainted are the tales and lost are all
the nouns,
what is left behind is the misfortune
of a doom.
Fireflies come surround me,
surround me, as I see my double in these shallow water cagings.
Are there any scars on the face, or just sweating grievance?
So true was the prophecy, 'sorcery in her eyes, mightier than numerous infallible legions.'
Lost was the battle, long lost the self-esteem.
Come oh dear firefly,
lamplit my path through these
wooden ceilings, to the threshold of insanity, where stands the wardens of certainty.

Back to the senses, back to the place she said I must belong.
Back to the conscious, back to the wisdom of men long gone.
She's back from her work, and we back at each other's text once more.
And these poetic justifications,
seems insignificant once more.
If words can't do justice to the elegance of rivers smooth flowing,
How could they, to her ocean eyes holding tears of unknown.
Thus, mightier the ocean and mightiest the sorrows it beholds.
But how to describe the guardian, when all forms of verb are over.

Therefore, reality is a delusion,
I must tell to her, how come all my efforts seem insignificant once more.
She told me to pack your bags and move out of town Delusion, oh lord.
Confirmed the prophecy, I too bowed before the mystical eyes of hers,
In the city of rationality, her eyes do hallucinations to lure,
Lured is every mass, even tricked are words long forgotten in sealed trunks.
Romanticism of old school, like mirrorball in a dusty room,
some poetic justice, some epics, some lows,
She said she had been in the place before.

© revolda