Words, thick with sap from a
tongue unwound, a majestic tree
losing it's face to the gentle rub
of a constant wind, and carried away
in the spinning of unity,
natures impressions
and identity's expressions
falling out of
the borrowers hands.
Tiny sorrows grew from pits of humble pie,
beanstalks climbed through destined sky,
and branches of choice muddled the mind.
Birds fly forth,
with wings of hope,
with a surety of self,
stoop and soar with frantic ease.
And here we are, caught in a ribbon of fire -
So, breathe in the night, as the milky sea of
Viking heart rips through our abandoned revolt,
and devastates the moon core.
Take in the alternative of nature's hope,
of lying in the moon shadow,
comfort of a spilled out tear,
the raining down of colourless confetti
Only on my head
I scatter paper fire for you.
听
