31 May 2012
Bathe in the waters warmed by the stone,
And prepare for the trials you'll face on your own.
The death of a flower is no less tragic,
Than the loss of my eyes to the blackest of magic.
Sometimes the blues is a passing bird,
A symphony played to never be heard,
A downbeat but moving selection of art,
That plays it's own role in choosing a part,
To muster then master it's problems at home,
It just needs the courage it's already shown.
Only Courage • Opuss № I