An ending vision without the sun
In opened streets
To where did you run
With meager vowels
A sudden stench
That favors clean towels
Beauty arose to become you
You became it’s lovely tyrant
Visions disclosed
We grew ever so silent
Indeed you ran
Children of this lost land
Did you find comfort
Within a strangers hand
Afford you could not
His supplied demand
When belief is distinguished
What becomes of a beleaguered man
The ruminants of an eager and pitied fool
With empty palms and scared wishes
She held closely these jewels
Forgive her
For she never knew
Her days
Would find rest on brood
If February were a love story
I couldn’t give you a tale
That meant more to me
But as you can see, In February
We long to become a love story
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