Fall II

And this time there's clamor in the silence,

Clamor, people christen as deafening, for they,

Perpetually dwindle from hearing the clamor,

But that's what average people do, don't they?

Because the universe is bereft of your actuality, but you,

Know, of the universe's survivals,

And the air has eaten the cinnamon from the froth of the tea,

Not because it seems frosty now,

But the air is itself flushed with the pong,

Which prompts you of oblivious reminiscence, 

The unprecedented warmth of two sets of pearls against,

Freezing cheeks, somehow vanquishing,

Because no matter why you think the sunlight's dusty,
It barely parades the dance, of the sole wit why they shed, 

Is they're indomitable in their way of thought for blemishing you, 

When is it, will you understand,

How colourful a death can seem?

Fall
Until next,

....

Ak.