Chest

Worn and yellow piles
Tied into a bundle
Lie a thousand miles
Far away from Rundle.

Notes of secret features,
Letters full of grim
Unexisting creatures
In a burning stream,

Covered with the ashes
With some spots of ink.
There's a bit of dashes
Lightened by a blink

Coming through the crack
Of a wooden chest
Buried in the sack
Under fallen nest.

Trying to get rid
Of some reminiscence
Which forced heart to bleed
And to fall to pieces

Someone took the plunge
Dug the things of precious,
Trapped inside the hutch
All those hidden treasures.

Lines of ancient scrolls
Tell some kind of story
Whose root deeply falls
Into shame and glory.

Things which used to be
Bring him back to days
When his mind was free
In some special ways.

If the heart is captured
Then the wit is empty.
This is a good-natured
Fact that brain is melting.

That's what happens when
Couples meet together,
This is, other than,
Greatest feeling ever.

Hands attached so tightly,
Smothering embrace,
Eyes are sparkling brightly
In the hottest braze.

Whispers in the night,
Breaking solemn silence,
Like the highest flight
Far away from violence.

Moving a bit closer,
Tingles down the spine,
Breath is trembling also
Making want to cry.

Then the soul takes off
To the outer space
And this breaks him of
Wounds and all disgrace.

Pleasant tender voice
Fondles gently ear,
Most desired noise
Leaves behind the fear.

Captivating smile
Bursting into laughter
Numbs him for a while.
Happy ever after!

Touches of the lips
With a special taste
And his left hand clips
Her around the waist.

Grapewine-colored blood
Erupted into veins
By excited heart
Runs to different ways.

Spirit's brought to heaven
To a sacred room
Rising above seven
Hills of ancient Rome.

But the dawn declines
Due to foolish cases,
Treachery and lies
Come from evil places.

All the pure relations
Drown in devil's hiss
Turning love and patience
To mutual malice.

All the little things
Reminding of the past
When two pairs of wings
Wanted more than lust

Make them feel disgust
And arouse great pity
For what's gone so fast.
Their lovely meetings

Used to be sincere
Like those rosebuds
That grew always near
Tiny wooden huts.

Then in weekly papers
Headline at the back
Says that sweatheart neighbour's
Killed in a car wreck.

Trying to get rid
Of this reminiscence
Which forced heart to bleed
And to fall to pieces

Someone took the plunge
Dug the things of precious,
Trapped inside the hutch
All reminding treasures.