Mystery of the me in synergy.
Honesty in your lies.
Suitable only to itself.
Straight lines need crooked waves.
The Sun needed not know of it's dying.
Harmony of all of life.
Need not know of the planet is dying.
Religion of yourself.
Never being, could not sense
is that why you clamor death?
Claymore can not stave your sword
of this message- of the beasts you slain
haunt your minds in pleasure.
The eternal darkness!
Nor humor can attest for your second set of senses.
The Gothic halls all descend upon
the graces blind and toll the dark towers all time.
For your sake and mine. The bell tolls.
What the clock tower knows...is a mystery of being.
Purple waves of clairvoyance.
Years catch me easy. As the crimson reeves.
Throughout the ages not knowing and feelings
so rare to explore without my skin and mind and heart
to bear burdens not there. Leave me without a care, with
the sky any color in the grass without time.
Turn blue trees
and the grass red.
The sea reflected a purple
and brown was not the earth
anymore this random yet
suitable.