broken dream


gold dust falls out of water, the cerulean sky's dream

Warm sunsets glistening the whitish poppies in a surrealist gaze

A mirrored reflection whose path is always upstream with a grandiose lulavim

Fresh oak offering the hell's blaze like a silent bell

And so too does the heavy burning handle scar deep into the unbendable skin

Coarse and dull and solace boils, the fume of illusion bare

The ravager that impales oneself is but a tick back from tock

The night's shady smooth branches block the black moon

Away red tree saplings, suffer in a forgettable dying breath, a ruthless soul of the night

And so the wild shadow on world is imprinted on damnation's edge

Solitude to the forgotten leaves and their stems

Gripping for existence, and nonsensicality, a vaunting venal vision at fault

Corrupted stems that the cuckoo grip firmly, a greatness within, or the mediation to escape from the rigorously riveting endless rain

In the mirror of the darkness between a broken bleeding stream lies a colorless light

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