Dreams are too common for love. Makes them less valuable.

They can only fuel passion for other things.

And love is too rare to be reciprocated.

The verbose of my feelings can only deceive It lures the mind into a quagmire of emotions And beneath those thick layers of impetuous, credulous thoughts Lie sapphires to unravel from the oceans of commotion

Teasing the very fabric of nature Creating ripples, the wind glides along And within this air of flirt, rain materialises Returns into the inviting womb, to the earth where it belongs

People who have facades of happiness glittering on their faces

Have dark black sadness smouldering between them