Amidst the hazy, glowing sheen,
You shall see what's always been,
The misty blue, the apple red,
The playful qualm of brownish dead.
How you saw not meadow hays,
snaking rivers, pebbly bays,
Never ago, did you wonder,
The blackish bandidas of hunger.
'You assent tears behind,
Are they what had been your kind?
They see not a heaving heart,
nor creases on your last-worn shirt,
They beckon no departeds,
hunting reasons those never existed.
The walls shall be repainted,
Vanish away will all tainted,
All that you did never pen,
Unheard they shall ever remain.
You shall miss not candid play,
Was such vital going away?
You shall see what's always been,
The misty blue, the apple red,
The playful qualm of brownish dead.
How you saw not meadow hays,
snaking rivers, pebbly bays,
Never ago, did you wonder,
The blackish bandidas of hunger.
'You assent tears behind,
Are they what had been your kind?
They see not a heaving heart,
nor creases on your last-worn shirt,
They beckon no departeds,
hunting reasons those never existed.
The walls shall be repainted,
Vanish away will all tainted,
All that you did never pen,
Unheard they shall ever remain.
You shall miss not candid play,
Was such vital going away?
No comments:
Post a Comment