Rain and Beams

Cross-hatched, dense sunlight

rains down on a deluged hill.

Creased horses gallop on its side,

foggy falcons soar above.

No grass dares to grow,

the weeds are too robust,

and the dirt is a dainty, biased nurturer.

Yet still, there is harmony in tyranny.

Blossoms bloom beneath burning bays,

seeds sown show significant signs,

italicized iguanas interpret iron igloos,

oppressed opossums overtly organize.

The faint whispers of decay drain away,

the silence brought by death dies,

hummingbirds’ hearts sing upon flowerbeds,

the spider is feeling a bit modish.

Water droplets rise into the air,

away into the heavens they go,

nuance is what they leave behind,

there now lies a vivid world to show.

-Sir Contra