The Final Flower
In quaint transcendent compromise through a filter
Just suppose we look intently toward the sun,
Within emmense structured matter via fun.
Soft display in some fowl featured way.
The final flower illuminates the sky,
On its papal bonnet call;
Isolation,
Alone in suspended framework in time;
Within lavish content of hearts that will stop on a dime,
Isolation as that given sense proned to fear,
I shed a single tear to numb the pain,
Isolation sets in the front of brain;
Through a nomadic tense capacity setting,
It's such a different way
By which to humbly bow the knee to pray
Isolation proned onto the inner man too afraid to take a stand?
When will we ever understand?
Isolation through its velvet wire sway
Isolation proned to touch the inner desire;
Sore vent deliverance to its eager participants,
Through vacant promises made at its funeral parlor,
In sadness, isolation sets in with loneliness to depend
Darkness filters through a reason,
Isolation through my brain.
Not having her in my arms was driving me insane!
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