That night oh Beloved , tremors and thunderings,
Past ,present and places ,all on a wall of future ,
Clouds of cirius circumscribed the courtier ,
As some were deep ,calm and others venomous ,
There was a mark of red , a light that often spoke,
Never shone , absent out of the stopping by the fall ,
Flowers bloom with the red , red of the past of the men
Stopping from entering her into the court of herbs.
The red colour of venegence wore its space ,
Flowing down the waves like a ritual ,
The flowers embellished into its colour ,
A frightful scent of prejudiced nature ,
Tripping down through a devasted past ,
It held no future in the blank space of the courtiers yard.