Great oaks still grow from little acorns...

Great oaks still grow from little acorns...

I could tell the story of a boy and do it chronologically
But it’d be too easy as I love to get deep into the abyss…
Of a soul, displaying thoughts and feelings sociologically
Squeezing every little piece of deepness into madness

Damn how he reacted, she whispered and he got pissed
One fist, a cavity in this little miss; all so brittle n crisp
She riddled his mist and blew the cold aura away quick
Makeshift facelift n yea she got more of that swayed fist
…Dumped in the trunk were a hatchet and two spades
Shift gear, one ace that swore not to brace her face
It was their secret; she was supposed to keep the silence
Instead she unleashed the violence and squeaking sirens
Alarmingly she screamed; sounds echoing in the basement…
There are still stains in the pavement from where her face went
Pieces of chipped teeth and fractures in her jaw and his palms
But finally…that was what could get his raw n untied fists calm
So he broke her nose, smashed this beauties looks in awe
Books got flaws but a poet’s word is still real with feelings
This mirrored image of a retreat, built still images of dealings…
Not meant to work, she still cried and told him that she’d leave
And so he shed his leaves shook it off and tried to believe
But great oaks still grow from little acorns…
And trees fall from storms and beauty got her face torn
They tried to break norms, a couple that didn’t shape forms
Instead this beauty got her face torn, some say hell is deceit
But it came to a cold ending; how he embellished her heat
He gave her a last hug, dug a hole in the dirt under a tree
It all came to one choice between staying this hurt or flee
She fucked with his dignity for that she got fucked for infinity
Faith? No she diminished the symmetry of trinity and all divinity