The Sweat of Blood

Sidney Li

The ring of a pin

Evermore it acts repelled.
As it strikes to ice.
The sweat of blood, kills me thrice.

To think:
I was there,
As your head clashed with the metal rogue.
I was there,
As your crimson blood
Painted my rose.
Like the drop of a needle
It trickles down your petals
And pools at my feet.
Yet as the watcher
Pulled you away from my quivering hands;
To think:
I shall never behold thy mien evermore.
Two fifth scores
In passing,
And a trace of a hair,
The woe it is drinking,
Fails to brush me.
Two fifth scores
In waiting,
But the first fire that has kindled in my heart;
Remains succumbed.
A flare of a dream
An extinguish of reality
They are naught.
But one of both
Yet simultaneously one of none
To have it lost
Pains more than to have death.
The crack of your last smile
Is now
The crack of my last sane.

One in a centum,
Amuses naught.
One in a centum multiplied conversely,
Lightens naught.
But to be one in one
Breathed you
The golden finger
To my subsistence.
Thy laughter
Induces my world.
Thy smile
Induces my spirit.
Thy speech
Induces my thought.
Thy tears
Induces my grief.
Thy lament
Induces but all.
Thy crimson essence
But dwells as yours.
Speak you,
A humble soul.
But think I,
My sole dependent.
A flame so bright
That the sight of you
Is an embrace.
A star so fiery
That the thought of you
Is my sanity.
But to what extent?
As the definition of juvenility
Leaves me an empty husk.

It feels as if the world spins on reverse.

It feels as if the sky has fallen.
It feels as if the very electricity in me has wadded.
Just a meter away
But an eternity long.
Hold my hand as we cross this invisible bridge.
Elicit my dreams as we put our minds in joint forevermore.
Lax the thought of mutuality, indulge in the
Empirical solace.
Now as we breathe as one
One gone and one in dement.
In our own fairy tale we live and laugh.
The tertiary inspiration dissolved.
And as the rays of energy brush its last stroke;
We live on. We laugh on. We die on.

The ring of a pin

Evermore it acts repelled.
As it strikes to ice.
The sweat of blood, kills me thrice.