His Heart Skips Quicker than It can Beat

Faster than the running wind
is an autumn leaf, falling
Can his weary eyes beguile
a colorless world?
He conjured himself since
a stupor brightly shining
where people everyday is a calm eternal,
where two of threes is four—

Oh knaves like you and me, we have
battle scars from fate and destiny!
We dare throw pebbles
but they hit us with bronzes
and golds and shards of sorrow
for us to treasure in a lifetime,
despite ourselves, dear, despite ourselves.