Truth
The beats of rhymes,
Are more than crime.
People always suspect,
All those who respect.
Some people don't stand,
By it's on motherland.
The flower that had withered,
But still no one figured.
The heart which is failed,
Because once it was sailed.
Not always the diaster,
Distroys one's laughter.
A evening,sun-set,
For sun isn't a regret.
The moon's dark stain,
Doesn't give it pain.
How long the earth,
Could bear the truth.
Because in the end,
The same will be the trend.
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