The poem that is far too green


Only a fool would be confused
to see in foreign eyes
The very soul that is himself,
using beauty as disguise.

And though we stood not far apart
it seemed as she was blind
Her dark eyes matching solely,
the color of my heart.

Since hiding from the heart's demands
has ever been a coward's trait
The doubt that clothes all my faith,
it must be torn by her own hands.

If luck should find my door someday
she'd paint blue water red for me
Walls of stone were made from sand,
ripped to pieces in the end.

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