I took a pen in fashion pink.
And a tabula rasa.
And burning passion was the ink-
The letters dancing salsa.
I start to write about your eyes
And stars - my destination.
And my sweet blanket are the skies
And clouds – a strange creation.
I write on fog, on rain, on snow,
And hope for the eternal.
And all the words - a perfect flow
For once a dying journal.
I’d wish you'd know they are for you
These rhymes from hell ascending.
But you are real, you have a view...
And I, a shell… descending.
© 2010 Lith Ium