slipping into the cold night for warmth
under the blanket of a distant voice
hoping no anchor holds belief down
for comfort knows well its kryptonite
duped by confidence of a naive pride
soul was caught by a pleasant surprise
of innocence's rare findings
in the open arms of faith and hope
she was resurrected by not the past
but dulcet sincerity of the unconscious
the knowings of a being yet to ripened
such no excuse for his genuine charms
and now, sanity strive to hold her down
before any effort goes to envisage
as it has been nothing more than an idea
of thoughts put together, not of his conscious.
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