Fall of Bliss

Your whisper's a melancholic hum of river flow,

That winter the wind pulls Cherry Blossoms of renewal.

Pops of pink cutting off the leash of mourning nightingale.

Warmth's a flare of sun unveiling masquerade of cynicism.

Punches of holes of abandonment,

Like catastrophic internal mass murder.

Yellow fur rays metamorphose into glimmers of autumn leaves,

Descending into my empty bead.

Come, grasp my hand of reckless bliss.

Playing like thieves of time as we lie under the fall of joy,

Where paper boats are sailing in the river of serenity.