What happens in love,
Ends in death,
Despair,
Silence.
We are but bees,
In a captive hive,
Living for but a brief moment.
Does love exist,
In this false world,
Full of hatred?
But now I have found,
The one,
My all.
My last chance,
To prove Love preserves.
Where all ends meet,
Where the tookers,
The tooken,
Live,
Love,
Harmonize.
It has stopped…
What makes the bird sing,
Playfully like an April breeze,
Living freely,
Fluttering about in the Great Blue Sky.
Not standing the Dead of winter,
You are the fire that warms me,
The desire for my shaking heart;
Your beauty and grace,
So unimaginable yet,
As if it was a radiant glow,
Thus blows a wind,
Sharp as sand,
Cold as ice,
Hard as stone.
Thus blows a wind,
Softer than sheep,
Warm as the sun,
Smooth as slate.
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