dense vault
Pretty is the pond, the waterfalls,
And the birds calling with ever-long,
Where I read rainless with the beats,
Beating to my heart through my ears,
Calming all my nerves with water's tears.
Cells committing suicide on my skin,
Sacrificing life for love of duty's host,
Sun gleams, a wolf in sheep's clothing,
Deriving a smile on my lips, stripping
Off my cares, I dare to take toes dipping.
The views are true and always my muse,
Here in the flatlands where mine grew,
Where the leaves blocked the whining sun,
And time was winding 'round a flat circle,
Sight was blue, red, purple, more colourful.
There were cracks in the twister I constructed,
Every so often time brought a bump,
And I'd grow woeful, and weary of grime,
That wandered in clumps, the vision I caught,
With twitchy eyes that became my prize.
An exodus of morning owls, green meadows,
A sunny noon that shall turn to shadows soon,
Retrieved in the trees and shunned with ease,
Thrown to the wind, whipped off by the breeze,
An exodus of bliss and colour, makes man duller.
crimson totem