It's cruel the wind blowing through the hair
unveiling a pale escape
like the faces of a book
bearing the eternal perpetuity
of the words
and when she fades into
continual heart miseries mournful ghosts
start marching toward isles' sharp edges to
care of the wounds.
bodies are falling, even so far they listened the sound
of the scarlet vision
catching the eyes of immortality
passion they could not resist.
sickness in tears drowned
a mist of disturbance
pledged by the soul
cause when they start to veer
close the wings and soar.