Painted in the vast sea of craves, Your ire is like the surge of waves, The surge of your ire is like waves, Painted in the vast sea of craves, Behold the stained fears in bed, Yearning for reverence in dread, For reverence yearning in dread, Behold the stained fears in bed, And rues can rule the youth, Painting refusal for mere truth, Refusal painting for mere truth, And rues can rule the youth, Painted in the vast sea of craves, Your ire is like the surge of waves, Behold the stained fears in bed, Yearning for reverence in dread, And rues can rule the youth, Painting refusal for mere truth. Pain ascends like near the vast sea where surges were as wide as you see and for fears yearned for truth, echoes may not be heard, yearning may not descend, it will be forever stained. And regrets may rule the youth and unearth what echoes may be heard, so paint me like a child fearing in the depth of a sea of fears where it is foreign, the void is inevitable. Lure me into something beautiful where my ire that is like the surge of waves was like the ones when there is a storm its furious tides and ripples were as mad as it sounds, paint me again when the storm has subsided and my sorrows have shown. Paint me like a wave ascending my pain, refusing the truth, ruling my rues. *A poem of our fears and regrets being painted.*