And yonder awaits ye advent...
A warming globe,
A warning foretold...
And hits me visage, a light wearing a bright yellow - too iridescent and threatening in ye moments of few that do a runner right beneath ye lashes of me eyes - me legacy am I terrified of admitting. Reminder it plays for me, of a time hath I grown nearly oblivious of - alack! a misery of mine! yet, must thee, ye one and a soul of such lenity to hear with ears resisting to do just the same, own I me lament of ye lonely hours will I somehow despise of for ye mind of mine. 'Tis some culmination am I heeding now, and ye azure intends turning green, yet turns it auburn, and turns it dully sorrel, ah! a sight of such conflicting transition - too indolent to even quiver yet, too excited to cease. Am I petrified to delude meself, yet, perfidious hath I so oft been - may thou know art those acquaintances a nasty kind; summons for a female body, a command too imperious. Servile I stand, naked is displayed me skin now when me blood demands riot; oh holy Providence! nostalgia conceives superficial a respite right on ye brown cardigan I wear with such reluctant a consent yet, too drunk am I with an ambrosia of me sins. Ye wounds of me repulsive intentions, merely can I offer me abhorrence to, now compose a design on the sequin of holding an embroidery I admire; ye wounds of such despair with some hours spent so morbidly in an otherwise clandestine moment of ecstacy, here me dear! here art carved ye scars of such penance, and refuse they to retreat serving abnegation - thou see, hath they learnt to love me at me ugliest, yet, stand we both responsible for a causation so untoward - can I not lay an apology of any greater a form.
'Tis a time of some closure, and not an hour of the same; so white does it lay, stretched but uneven, and pale me lane; so quiet and chaotic loiters around me ambience, as if rendering thy shoulder aloof, and seeking mine - too berserk and too strident but, seemingly in quelled a shape.