O roses roses, the roses that i scorn,
of perilous love and bloody thorns.
Yet every metaphor, before their beauty, speechless became,
Embrace embrace, fondle i will, these deadly roses;
Every mimosa, in her radiance, cries in shame,
To death, To death, bleed i will, for her divine kisses.

Friday, June 03, 2005
Try we may have, even beyond the last of breath,
in futile attempts to cease but the cycle of life and death.
Yet in perpetual failure we return hand in hand.
The world maybe more full of weeping,
Than we can possibly understand.

To mankind they commanded
Ride the winds,
Glide the waters,
O'r the shadows of the valley of thousand acres
To the promised land of greens and heaven.
Yet now, i mourn for the promise disregarded.
Death unto us, disease unto man.
Sufferings we now forced to bear in the barren land,
Of sorrow and pain, such submerged in burning sand.

Man is then put to test,
Set to an eternal quest,
In search for the pill of immortality
For our life so fragile, breaks with utter zest.
Our minds too never given rest,
now become living testaments to the troubles and distress
of this land of countless pests.
posted by Homan on Friday, June 03, 2005