Who knew such belongings?That the truest loveCould blendThe margins of lifeInto forgotten wants.

If I could count the infinity of youI’d place each second within your soul,and lay my breath between the starsthat form your heart and whole.

Fly away,” sang little lark to the crow,“There is no home for youAmong the broken promises and empty hearts. We drewthe life we never mourned, away with fading dark.Your wings are fashioned from the cold, mindless liesof feathers tarred with pitch!

Who knew those detached wordscould conjure silent vows― flaming―fide et amor ― nothing lasts forever―