What had this furious one won through mischievous deeds?
A soliloquy of sorrow, borrowed blue, an intense void.
She appeared on a whim on a moonless night.
Her hair, golden silk, shielding saddened eyes.
It was just an act; no impending fate.
Once the tears and blood had dried
I tried to understand.
But by then, borrowed blue, it was much too late…