The bronze in the wind,

That hazel in your eyes,

The memories we burnt;

To this mocking ruby fire,

That dust-paved ground,

Those crunchy veined leaves;

The massacre in your smile,

The heavens had never foreseen,

That husky autumn dawn,

Under those pale obscure stars,

Those grief leaved words;

That you etched on my heart,

Under the blush dripping sky,

Amidst those farewell hours,

When you left it to burn;

This world that we called ours,

Those sin-stained footsteps,

That you marked on the street,

Those scarlet-stained tears;

The sunlight traced on my cheeks,

And now I wilt here somber,

Mourning the end that I mistook,

For you were not my that forever;

Like those roses in my books,

But for eternity this heart will yearn,

Drunk with desire for the truth,

Were we really a history of love;

Or mere mistakes of our youth?