A sequester, with no home
But a cherished mossy green wall
A unique thing called nothing
A lass in a throne of grass
That spill the scarlet pigments on the 'holy'grass
A rose with thorns for scent
That choke and pricks the heart
Leaving a soul gasping for air
In despair
Darkening light
To love is to sacrifice, and sometimes the sacrifice runs deep to cut the veins. But love compels us to act, to make a choice even to the sinistrous one. Hold on, leave!The lass in aquamarine, this time in a chanted version.
She cherished the puissance touch of the varmint, is a coiffure adept the language she understands most, though tied in affection of jalapeno bite that most times left her reckless.
Yesterday!In a bridge of purple flower, happy birthday!! In a dark blue suit of Fame toasted with shame, then a sudden halt, and excuse do I know your name?Am... Mmmh... Am
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