My hatred overwhelmed my eyes.
For all I know to be a lie to be.
White today.
Yet yesterday was never something
shallow why is back bane of your days.
Is your dove flying.
For what I find in dead poets
but not in living ones.
For all I know to diluting the host.
Yet today is here where the hell is me!
In your heaven of isolation. I am merely
another thought. The dove has died.
For this time, I am here-
and you are dreading the dead.
Yet all along.
I wanted you to stay.
Why do you leave it.
Dreaming of the dead.
I am not dreaming of anything really.
I wanted this to be.
Simply my words betray me.
I am never the name you gave. I am
looking in vain for. Someone to share.
Living for life to be. Not to be seems to
be misery on sale before and beyond.
The jester died yesterday whenever that be.
Is all abstract to me.
Dead to me. For all the poetry
that I gave you my soul.