With a wave of delicate fingers

  Echoing the morning’s first ray

  But pain on its tip still lingers

  Reminding of the ending of day.

  Still looking at vanishing lenses

  That stares into emerald eyes

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  And piercing my hopeless senses

  Severing grieving and painful ties.

  Tapping the rain-stained window

  A flash of ink has been shed

  Whose spreading image of ether

  Open a path to the dead.

  Still scribbling on purified papers

  With sharp and delicate nails

  All things shall be made known

  With a wave of delicate fingers.

  Stretched on an ebony surface

  The quill traces all thoughts

  With lines ripped from midnight

  Connecting the targeted dots.

  A map slowly emerges

  Whose treasure one’s life must pay,

  The sun will be the set compass

  Echoing the morning’s first ray.