fading bolt
The wheels dawdle to the top of the hill,
Monkeys stare, for I have tarnished their view
With a strange contraption that gives them chills,
Don't soaring chills exist? They might turn blue.
We reach an abode, our magic portal,
To leave dread and conceit for something sweet.
It melts and charms me, and yet, it's mortal,
Made of bricks and leaves, makes me feel complete.
On tables, I see orbs glisten and clink,
They drift about, trying to find their homes.
Guided by our sticks, one by one they sink,
My heart falls and leaps as they still do roam.
My feet don’t just graze the skies, they tiptoe,
I still feel its warmth as cool breeze soothes me.
Grass caresses my hair, it won’t let go,
I visualise worlds lying beneath.
I see my reflection in the lake,
How graceful and elegant does she look?
Seems deviously blurred, it must be fake,
I destroy it, one touch is all it took.
I wonder, am I too warm for this place?
It vaporises at my mere presence,
How grand it must have been? It left a trace
Of a strange emerald luminescence.
As the wheels dawdle down the dwindling hills,
The monkeys mind their own little business,
With grief, I leave their land of soaring chills,
I stare for they enrich all I witness.
manic drift