Lacuna

I walk in a space full of roses with a sense of missing doses

The same doses that remind me of a piece of glass from a broken mirror last September

As I cry in this weird face, I say to myself, how can it ever be replaced

Bring the riches that will fulfill my bridges and patch up my stitches

Let a sound flow from the blows it shows

The roses are hissing because they know something is missing

The presence of a lily has them acting silly

The sun blooms under the sky’s doom

And the moon shines over the star's bright light

Is this an illusion or is it just my mental conclusion

But here I am again finding another near the cotton gen

As the day end, let another lacuna disappear from within.