The orange is true in it's demeanor
How imagined grass is greener
Yellowed sun when none has seen her
rays
When waters blue such as the sky
Yet never knew to wonder why
Visions red intrude as you cry
blaze
The well lit graveyard remains dark
For heaven's cloudy schemas spark
The links the mind will make and mark
akin
A taxonomic class unique
When paying mind is what you seek
External interest that you pique
within
The breadth of essence titles hold
Release when spoken fit the mold
Conceive the tone that words untold
will be
Certain sole syllabic mixture
Angles, curves affirm the scripture
Lone assuring way to picture
me
About the Creator
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The Path to Salvation
The late autumn evening air filled the monk's lungs, but it wasn't the season that chilled his bones. The heavy-handed presence of evil he had sensed upon entering the woods surrounding this mountain village had not bothered to conceal itself from him.
By Made in DNA4 days ago in Fiction
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