A splintering moon, its last drop of blood,
Stitched by the angels, winged men in hoods.
Bring not the ignorant lost, but known self,
For flesh and mind destroy itself.
And times not lost, regress untrue,
For frivolous nature and deformed virtue.
Hides in the groves, out of reach of most men.
To bring upon this inevitable end.
Where hidden in shadows is righteous true heart.
Keeping everything that’s good not apart.
Connected by love, my stream flows to yours.
Felt from the rain, hanging above.
The lingering storm.
My lingering love