The dawn has darkened early
before the frozen blood-sunrise,
with my daisies bowed in shame
from morning's theft before paradise;
what a breaking without bends;
of time's constant snobby race
with all soul's measured moonlight
scene
above their gravestones out of haste;
for auroras sing no more
like spring marias over petals,
waking beauties with a gentleness
quite enchanting as though devils';
rather farewells to begin
of trumpets delicate as thorns,
good bye prayers for the welcoming
to simply either hearts or horns;
maybe beholders from beyond,
my living footprints had enough
of taken chances, never returned
since tracing wildness runs so rough;
though never early, neither late
but leaving's sentiments tear
to stream a river of memories
I only dried up with fears;
maybe this dawning do conclude
the promised final silent rest
of never waking under grievance
from life regretful's gothic fest;
maybe tommorow only ceases
thus, what survival lastly mean
but standing patient for my carriage,
to where eternity's presence lean.
