Rotten

What has one
If he doesn't have it at all?
The love
That he asks for

The plight of relequishment
Of feeble delight
Of tender moments
Lived throughout the night

The jester, the humor
The sight he sees
The crude morbid sense
Of anguish subdued in superficial laughter that misleads

The mood that throws one astray
The joy of light has gone, what can one say?
The beauty of the Moon is now forgotten
The light the shines off is just a white rose without a smell; rotten