Destiny Beat

Mesmerized by summers fire-breathing; These wounded hearts barely beating, Crescent moons align in shuddered dark; Enlightenment gives the stinging mark, Upon the brow that is deeply scowling; Hand to her chin, then she's growling, A victim unaware of summertime's rage; He touches hell for hope of heavens sage, Destitute, alone in summers lurid poem; The wounded hearts still beat on, Still beating, two beats per second; Then down to one he reckoned, At the stop sign, Until.