The Joy That We Remember
The joy that we remember,
Is something that lives on,
The nature of burning embers
Made us so fugitive!
Our past years made us believe
For what is most worthy to be blessed;
Delight and liberty, the sympathy of creed
Of a childhood, whether busy or sat rested,
With butterflies fluttering inside her breast,
Thinking of all those being raised;
But one of the most obstinate questions
It don't make sense inwards or outwards,
People falling for us, then vanish;
Left with Blank misgivings like a creature
Moving about in a world not realizing,
Putting high instincts before our mortal nature
Feeling trembled with a guilt a thing surprised;
Breaking and having no affection
Seeing a shady spirit of recollection,
A pattern left by red puffy eyes know one could see;
Brown eyelashes hid pigments of suede
A history of a stranger still to be unhold,
Sat on furniture that leather is made.
And the candle light will burn all day;
Are the master's light one of the strangest ray?
Weakened by soulful cries.