Such a crystal drop,
Such a fragrant scent,
Such a transient dream
In which my days are spent.
A waking pristine picture passes,
Each thought turned to sacred masses.
The flow shatters my scene,
A tear, a river, a lake, a sea,
Kingdom-devouring waters,
Bringing truth back to me.
Every dream is transient, fake,
Sinking to oblivion, angels break.
Pandora's box is full of hope,
Filled neatly to the brim,
Yet just one drop come pouring out,
Even on Seraphim,
Will chain all 6 wings tightly bound,
And tear the creature to the ground.
Now all these dreams are dead,
I see you are not mine,
I observe this paradisiac beauty,
With perception fine,
Yet still oblivious, you hear another tune,
Outside of myself; I am not your Moon.
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