Pure blue sky, beautiful gem,
Clouded by grey stormy visions.
I can't believe it's happened again,
Despite my careful decisions.

Desert oasis, spiteful mirage,
False sense of security.
Hope stacked up in despair's garage,
Clouded over purity.

Obscured greats, hidden perfection,
Wrapped in a blanket of lies.
You wove it yourself, with lack of affection,
Woven with threads of despise.

-Shorin Quicksilver

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Ero, in the year 401 AF.