I always wondered what I would be doing when the world was going to hell ...Turns out it was just scrolling through the internet and getting lost in the time when the world wasn't going to hell.
He stared into the dark sky with his empty eyes.All light gone.The sparkling, shallow water pooled around his naked, delicate feet, which were now adorned with permanent scars.The scars were jewels he had been gifted on his birthday.He didn't ask for them.The scars weren't the only thing he was gifted with.He was gifted with loneliness.The sea had stolen his parents."Even if you touch my feet a thousand times, I won't forgive you for taking my parents" Those were the words he wanted to scream but he couldn't, for the ocean had taken more than his parents from him.It had stolen his voice.
Poison ivy crawls at its root,I dare not approach it,It has an air of hate.One would say a man had been hanged to its branches,It holds them in such a way.The moon gets tangled in it,A distant steeple seems to barkFrom its belfry to the sky.Something that no one ever loved,Is buried here:Some grey shape of deadly hate,Crawls on the back fence just beyond.Now I remember--once I wentOut by night too near this oak,And a red cat suddenly leapt
Long vast shapes... cooled and flushed through with darkness....Lidless windowsGlazed with a flashy lusterFrom some little pert cafe chirping up like a sparrow.And down among iron gutsPiled silverThrowing gray spatter of light... pale without heat...Like the pallor of dead bodies.
What shall I do when the Summer troubles --What, when the Rose is ripe --What when the Eggs fly off in MusicFrom the Maple Keep?What shall I do when the Skies a'chirrupDrop a Tune on me --When the Bee hangs all Noon in the ButtercupWhat will become of me?Oh, when the Squirrel fills His PocketsAnd the Berries stareHow can I bear their jocund FacesThou from Here, so far?'Twouldn't afflict a Robin --All His Goods have Wings --I -- do not fly, so whereforeMy Perennial Things?