feudal love
if this prince fears anything
it is not to lose a battle
if this prince wants anything
it is not to win at war
this prince is afraid
of all that is memory-made
the moist of old gardens; rusting city walls
delicate china; the scent on the bed sheets
soon they will be lost to time
recorded in something as volatile as the mind
floral wallpapers peel; voices grow distant
breakfast smell fades away; porcelain breaks
vines wither;
this prince could only hope
vampire eyes would stay; faces remain vivid;
blood is still thick; promises are kept
everything is paler by tomorrow
even feudal love fades in the edges of darkness.
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pinksubmergence posted this
Life, love, logic, and the lack thereof in the city. ©
