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Charon
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November's Eve
White dreams of sour relish
four candles in VIRGINS nest
Sweet rhyme of brook flows in our minds... we fly.
Words in a cold frost eve,
taken by the form of breeze
Falling down before they get to known... the sough
Drunken by a fierce of night
and some who RECLAIMED my mind
The dark is longer than we thought, so cold.
Black snow shall fade our shapes
roots of the oak EMBRACE
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Sweet rhyme of brook flows through our times, alive.
A quiet pray, another day
for the words that never said.
November's eve, four of a breeze
for the words that never feels,
Forever we die, forever disdain
in WHITE dreams of sour relish.
Forever white, forever night
loose love cleaves to a DARK.
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