a feeling that was about to grow is already dying..

kept untold but by fate unfolded,
behind a life of broken emotions.
a bloomed rose remain thorn-ed,
hurting beauty outcomes.


collision clears the friction,
rarely, mid-summer rain.
an arrow, points distinct perceptions,
yet a cross, to all directions.


daybreak with foggy setting,
but what is important is the coldness within.
for light can pass through,
but not the shadow of you.


thalamic as it may seem,
guilt and pretentious.
the feeling which soon to grow
was about to wither in spring