We live where love is heard,
But no one listens to unheard voices.

Love is shared among rotten boxes,
Causing snake hisses,
Hearts are dead,
But soul is revived within red Moon voices.

I am bludgeoned by many stories told,
By some young rosters,
All my days are turned cold.

I am somewhat told,
Stories in front of me
Bent minds to excursive benevolent sisters.
I am just thwarted.

My love is on hold,
As days filled with oysters.
My love is barricaded by cold.

I am varied seed,
I am living,
But in the underground I am still dead.

I am thin and indefinite root,
But salt make taste.
That’s theirs to route.