Keen to the shifting of the wind
Blindly, she will bend with it
To rid these sinful kisses
That she must now leave behind
Sour, the fruit of neglect
Avoidance the core of self doubt
Deprived are her veins that are infected
By the constant with and without
Seeds of uprooted chance
They are nothing but grains of goodbye
Wavering boughs, so slowly dance
The season beseeches the blackened sky
Why else do we endure the season?
Eternally questioning, why?
Fate will forever find a reason
Of this hollow, empty essence inside
How strangely the elements nurture this soil
Embracing it with each caress
Stranger still, its softness tends
To the hunger of the empty soul
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