as sorrows try to claim our vital glow.
Are shades our talks upon historic writhe?
And time will sweep them, they forever blow.
We strive our fate to draw on paper's sheet;
our feelings show and make them propagate;
poets, crying with words, immerse amongst the bleat;
their pain is pushing to communicate.
But even if our songs to skies are faint
and even if our hearts will stop to beat,
a boy or girl- one day- will find to paint
their love with colors of our sweet poems treat!
Along with bloody rhyme, which dripping slips,
a world of fragile souls in thirsty lips!

