Bloodied in Time

Once there was a boy,
who loved like the Summer,
the kind,
which faded somewhere
Time could never find.
Once there was a girl,
who loved like the Winter,
that lay,
in peace and froze itself,
for Spring to melt away.

They met in Autumn,
when withering leaves, almost dead,
bred a love which made,
the crimson sun,
blush a deeper red.

Days were bright, nights brighter,
as the silent moon, would quiver,
to thump heartbeats,
which made Silence herself,
jump and shiver.

And fleeting clouds, made shapes
of longings, waiting for a station
while the burnt out stars,
spoke of a time,
when two souls made a constellation.

Days scrambled for their nights, to make
a love which looked a crime
somewhat like the one made,
by two nomads,
lost in Time.

But then one day truth came in,
and tore to twenty shreds,
the hearts that danced under,
the lie,
living inside their heads.

The boy fell like pieces,
the girl could never fit, or dwell,
in a jigsaw which would,
end up never,
solving itself.

For the girl was a story,
the boy, a lover of art,
how unfair that Time,
wrought a love,
a thousand years apart.

(The artist fell in love with a story, a thousand years after its inception. No wonder there was heartbreak)

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