White dreams of sour relish

four candles in VIRGINS nest

Sweet rhyme of brook flows in our minds... we fly.

Words in a cold frost eve,

taken by the form of breeze

Falling down before they get to known... the sough



Drunken by a fierce of night

and some who RECLAIMED my mind

The dark is longer than we thought, so cold.

Black snow shall fade our shapes

roots of the oak EMBRACE

Sweet rhyme of brook flows through our times, alive.



A quiet pray, another day

for the words that never said.

November's eve, four of a breeze

for the words that never feels,

Forever we die, forever disdain

in WHITE dreams of sour relish.

Forever white, forever night

loose love cleaves to a DARK.