that long and lingering sigh of a person, dejected but calm,
who holds the answer to all his guilt in tightly gripping palm;
who's come to terms with what he loves and what he wishes to,
with knowledge that out with all old, and make believe anew.
a lonesome glance over his shoulder, if only to make last,
an impression, a severed pact, with ideals gone and past;
today i bid farewell, so long, such gazing to the skies askew,
who could have told this stoic bold soul that deeds are made for all but few?
who were to care? with paltry laughs that shrug off all given respect,
through glimmer eyes that blinded now have come to take their own aeffect;
when came the day through yonder lights that left him here with naught but rue,
and placed upon the clouded grey where once there were pure skies of blue?
'tis but a thought in which you've loved! oh, mighty son who has it all,
in practice there is no such thing, at least not for what sins may fall;
so reckon now with little pride that utopian gist you must shoo,
and have it gone away for good, this amor that you bid adieu.
and with such lust for perfect things, you leave so little for yourself, in hoping that they were to make for fate, for love, for hate, forsake, forbade;
in colours of the eastern earth, you swear your fealty to such things bereft of reciprocation that is worth shade - eternal gifts made of cheapest jade.