R's World

Weep under the withering willow.
Shrewd mannerism and shallow virtue.
Seek solitude surrounded by it's silence.
Longing is the loudest when left unloved; a liar's loss.

Bingley

All hail the beauty that lay within your eyes,
One that judges my soul and the skies.

What a great verdict you give, based on your own assumptions, you live.

A court where innocence holds no virtue,
For I think, whoever stepped in here was a sinner, don't you?

In your eyes, I lay waste to your dream,
How can you not hear your own scream?

A veil of deceit you cover it up,
Surrounded by more like you, delusion filling your cup.

Beauty, for thee, is what is deemed as perfection
For the bruises and patches of reality, have always been out of your range of selection.