Mourning on the morning fresh breadth,
She sat across the window,
Blooming in and out through her nostrils,
As rain poured down the shattering glass.
The darkened hour,
A darker mind,
Boiling red flowing in streams,
Freshened by the wind that passes by.
The tress in motion,
Humming the most beautiful of all rhymes,
Passing its rhythmic chores,
To the dead of all those feelings.
A piece shattered into a million pieces.,
The obscenities of all the past,
A kingdom fallen into ruins,
Upheld the king, whimpering on the wind.
Harboring the ruins of that which has fallen,
Channeling the soothe calmness of the trees,
The king with all his open doors,
Let on the wind blew through him.
The leaves that were singing,
The rains that were whispering,
The heart ringing its gong,
And the man stood hearing,
I am here. I am now.