Forest (part2) By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
Pink leaves speak ill of their breathing spines,
let there be dark blood to spill from spidered borders.
There is a reason why the nightingales sing at night,
they aren't caged from locked screams of the modern covens.
Hearing their chirping echoes from deep tunnels,
Their gay celebrations invite strangers to embark these columns.
Swooping through each dynamic breeze, twisting its
Fine gesturing wings into aerodynamic attitude.
Nightly birds swing from inside to the alive ether.
Hallelujah, luminous flowers bow to
Their aero royalty, they must return the favor.
Riding through halls to kings, purple lining traces
the atmosphered dome of ceramic dust to an unforeseen heaven.
Yet some feathers flee the forest, these guardians of thought
travel the lines of a bi-polar path towards confused gaiety,
I envy their décor, it appears déjà vu to my sensual capacity.
There are the few that choose the avenue to dawn,
Those lost feathers will never fall on a misty boom.
Darkness is the forest's true essence,
especially when midnight shines shadowy moons.
Many men awaken to disturb the milky
Moonlight of nocturnal equality.
During the bright sunrises, treasure fades
into the arms of Helios and Apollo.
At the break of nightfall, Nyx releases
treasure as an exam for their sinful ways.
During the day, nothing comes out, the nighttime is when
The most evil of evil come, let's imagine who shall be victorious in the goddess's invention.
For the ruthless cheaters that sleep in the cocoons
of forest's bright orange daylight, sandy eyes will
never reveal the genuine stairs to them.
Sailing slowing to the fearful area,
Sirens dramatically sing causing dynamite along shipwrecks.
Hearing one, forms the whole world to the victims thoughts of a black universe of oblivion.
Nothingness but the choir yet still stirs beautiful notes.
Just the slightest whispers in those wolffishears,
“Show me anguish” is what I've heard the beautiful mermaids say.
Aquilo frightens nomads traveling upon the
North Star's whispery wuthers of gloom.
Man should definitely be afraid of the forest's black magic.
Witches laughter happily follows your third eye's engraved burrow.
Dizzily losing the trail isn't poor navigational skills, but evil in galore.
Dark tales of the never-ending howls fan from
The twisted winds which aren't frightening from their indigo spirits.
White candles float around their embellished hoods to see this wicked being,
They aren't being naïve to their surrounding creatures, they can't be seen either.
Arriving at the exact frontal position of middle ground, they walk
But hit into an invisible, hale wall.
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