Will I ever fathom

If you were a boon

Or in disguise uncanny, ‘twas

A scathing misfortune?

Thoughts evoke answers

Yet eyes deny to see,

Bruised bosom aches

In agreement to disagree.

These demons of the past

Befalling each rung along

The destiny, unfolding

The right and the wrong.

Howbeit, blinded by the

sweetened weapon of Amor,

Am I fretting but

The closing of yet another door?