Of the thousand docile moons I have witnessed
The mildest breeze that I have felt
As I have weighed the heaviness of lightness
And its worthlessness I may assess
Just as soon my summer turns into winter
Before which leaves of autumn were torn asunder
The souls of the ruthless are perpetually blown into the depths of emptiness,
now weary they have grown
The setting sun blushes crimson
as it abandons the region
Sighs of regret and sorrow
The low arch of your brow
Tells of the uncertainty of tomorrow
Of the many words you have said
And all the instances this heart of mine bled
From your lips I must hear a confession
of substantial logic and reason
I am but a millionth of a whole
whose existence has been oppressed by the rule
But among all those you have promised eternal love,
besides from the stars above,
to whom did you offer it least?
Searching the corners of the North, the South, the West, and the East
Glances that were stolen
Consolations to the crestfallen
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"There are some things to like about this but it shouldn't be like pulling teeth to figure out what you're trying to say. Sometimes in searching for symbolic, mataphoric expressions, we get lucky with a few, but also end up using some that become mere filler and detract from the beauty of the rest of the poem. Too ambitious, I think. Next time try for more simplicity." -- Dick Koss.
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