- Books, Literature, and Writing
In the mist of the beginning, and to the end,
My purpose of life has lived long enough,
In those moments I was happy, and forgot the reality of life's sins,
That men foretold peace, but only to dream of such,
Then love struck and filled its path with much,
As the beauty of the world dies, I still look to its spirit, and find you attached to its aura,
Then pain rained shame on us, and proved love could not be tamed, only to be lost again in euphoria.