Old style, thinking and writing!
A heartbeat that is sweet poetry to my ears, divine thy beauty, and compareth to thy earth's beautiful winter flower.
Yet, a sheet of snow do covereth thee, prevaileth have thee through dark, lonesome night.
A lantern left hither, lit by detemined flame, Shall not falter like doomed brethren. Doth thee possess an insight, as to foul brethren's deforesting, that makes the world a treacherous place?
What maketh thee positive, as to what you would call sardonic? Pretty, may be your wrath, to compareth to cherry blossoms that fall. Mine, may be the wrath of fine gentleman?
Would you create a land, with no predators, thee, rabbit? So doth not blood red suffering's ooze leak from thy chest, that does punish thee?
Making this an uncertain world?
If life be as fair as you, would fear be unnecessary? Or should thee not cower hither, but far, from wrath of perfection? If sweet sorrow does eventually make it's way down your cheek's valleys?
Shall I fall into thine arms, to lament imperfections? Or let thy imperfections guide me to an answer, earth's truths? Maybe, humanism be my weapon, if thou not be my sword's sheath?
Would I draw my weapon, to a petal that has fallen too many? Misery's end, would be a glorified sanction to thy mind, But with fallen grace's vengeance?
If thou shalt not be my weapon, I shall draw my shield. To come hither, love me, would outweigh apocalypse's wrath, and great king's wealth, of which you mean far more to me.
And so, does come with this, sweet poet's satisfaction.