Neither rhyme from cadence of yours, nor reason,
Neither guns nor roses dwell in the silent whistles,
An escaping day fades away from season,
It’s your guard or garden overrun with thistles.
So bestay, beware my rhyme, my Rome
Staring at stars, through the dimming light,
Dimming light, blue velvet is heaven's dome
It’s a crack in consciousness. Partition zwei.