Dawn! Breaks the Sun, its mote filled rays.
Floats like a happy feather;
Yet it screams, the End of Days!
Like a horrid, ugly dream,
It’s no cure, this happy weather
It’s not cure, this sunny gleam!
He snuggled, in sheets of lace,
Awakes bloodshot in love’s embrace!
With treasured memories of grace.
Double ticks, blue.
Locked Lips, honeyed smiles on his face
The whole night through.
She sees the textbox, he ignored.
In a rival’s arms awake.
Her spirit sad for sadness’s sake,
Never closer union.
Alas her heart did he take.
Yet not his be given.
Matthew Jerome, Seremban