Fragility underlies in the land of Eden, only in youth;
                The flowing teardrop on a maiden’s cheek when she
             sits among the scattered rose petals and blood-stained bedsheets

                        We journey in the perilous forest of our lost souls
                               suffocating in a momentary lapse as we reside in fear;
                               the mirthless orb, the calling that echoes with the trembling and pulsating silence.

                                       Tragedy underlies in the scorching inferno; only in wake.     
                                Lucifer does not glide by us as he seals with a kiss
                           And when death blows away all streams of light as it envelops the sun in a golden blur, the shadows in the night do not remove their cloying grasp.

                        Our coming is never in the muse of the morning
                           But when the beam of the stars sting us with fire
                               An ember kiss on a honeycomb of cells,
                               The naked eye sees that of wisdom