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We the Boundless
Many will chastise the nature of nature. It is senseless, is it not? To be infuriated by an individual’s individuality, And castigate every single one of their thoughts. Would you tell a rose to surrender her thorns? Criticize the moon’s soft light? Would you torment the whispers of the wind? Or cry at the frost’s…
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The Existence of True Love
My arm is deep within the bush of ros’s. Cuts and bruises do not cause me to cow’r. Bleeding may I be, yet I still chose this, For an achingly temporary flow’r. Though the title most perfect suits you not, See my epitome of perfection. Certain reason for my love can’t be sought, Yet I…
