Hopes ablazed in fires of summer, fallen in thousand leaves of gold, embracing the ground of its pieces, to sleep until the rivers flow again.
Burn me in the clouds of fire to carry the ashes into the heavens that make the stars at night by the warm evening sky.
Sweet petals follow my thirst, come die in the path I'm taking, to bloom the colors of May and to burn in crimson and gold.
Turbulent flames embraced me in raging petals of marigold, doubts turned into ashes, and so the fires stilled.
In the gushing of his dreams, he strummed the breeze, calming the dark nights from the loud whispers of pain.