Foreign lips, fall upon rosy cheeks
as the still, blistered, hearts are washed
by sorrowed tears,
and words of false Romeos
leave naive Juliets, shadowed, shaped,
longing for a better tomorrow.
Sweet angelic smiles, fall frail to wounded
words spoken in whispers to the delicate ear,
shackled by foolish consequences
and lingering desires,
turned out by the passing time.
Sharpened souls, dull and corrode
by the fading days,
elongated into a sea of contempt,
masked from merciless voices,
a stone sunk state of defeat.
-Denis Doiron
