Imbued Verses
By Henry Doubnez Imbued Verses Singing a song whose words I do not know, but reflections that are imbued to my soul losing to my mind's projections. The feeling is always the same, starting with a stimulation. A prospering combustion that strikes the heart, never fading. I stare at my verse, seeing your name, never stopping my flame. And they pray that we meet thy sight, une rose ornée d’épines. Don't want to live in a world where my verses wither, like a flag furled not to show, but to burn my spirit for an isolation, now split. Looking back now I realize all that is written, an epilogue. A plastic chapter dedicated and a world that was never real. Dressed like a mirror, hoping that you notice not to shatter but to prosper my heart's matter and see the beauty you bring. Surface is shattered, the shell is gone and freeing what is within an empty tomb, yet une rose qui fleurit and what a scent, cleansing my tomb. If this is how a song ends, whisper it but only from you can ...