Cherry blossoms wafting on the breeze,
Remnants of dreams we can never seize.
Birthed of the sweet smells of spring,
These are times of which we will sing.
The seasons still pass by as if by design,
Yet despite the time I covet what is mine.
Like branches from the trunk of the tree,
Are choices the end of which I cannot see.
Now we walk a path of embellished dreams,
Where nothing that was is now as it seems.
For boots march in lockstep ready for war,
And I try to forget what we have in store.
The final gift of cleansing light invites,
Battling mythical days spent flying kites.
Only truth can be the final arbiter of it,
Ignoring what historians one day may writ.
Back here in the present the schism grows,
The paradise I had feels its first throes.
So I act freely though I am set on a path,
Where I will incur every universe's wrath.
Heaven opened when a gatekeeper perished,
That single moment was forever cherished.
Evidently one may still grasp it someway,
But however one might do it I cannot say.