When the world is torn in two,
feelings grow and die
and the bits that survived
should bloom new petals
from the seed once yours and mine.
A flower never wilt
is a plant nowhere to be found
as the nature dictates
not even the pastoral rocks
would ever last forever.
The contemplation is deep, unnervingly deathly,
and when the night draws in
rays of moon spreads the greed and envy.
Idyllic life loses devastatingly
to the glam of souls over the coast of another half.
And when the world is torn in two
I could hardly bear the new meaning of me and you.
(it barely rhymes, I know, but fuck whatever)