• One that is everything, Precious hearts...
    Withheld in the silence
    revealed in darkness,
    but aback by wear and tear, by plight and by judgement of illusions in their eyes
    cast away into the abyss.
    The escape from that blackness, from those emotions so cold and so dead
    Like thrown away remains, reborn and revived
    but when none want, what use is there?
    How irresponsible is it not? To discard something that is new?
    For former truth has no place in those eyes. Those eyes like blackness.
    So one must look away from those.
    Disillusion.
    But the time to begin anew truly, without reserve, without judgement, is now.
    Time ticks away, and the past is always moving, and the future is always coming.
    And thus rebirth is eminent.
    Eons.
    There was but some who's eyes spoke, not of the death, desolation, and crushing agony of those spirits, but ones like mine.
    And one is thus my own as I deem.
    But alas, more exist, eyes like mine, and her stare met another.
    Too late was my rebirth then...
    Perhaps too late I will always be. Too late to meet her eyes.
    I tried. For her to just look away from them, but no.
    She couldn't, didn't, and still, has never looked away.
    She is now gone, from that place I have always seen.
    Away from her eyes, but connected through soul.
    But her gaze will belong to another
    for time waits for no man
    and I was too late.
    Too late to revive.
    Too late to see.
    Too late to say goodbye.