Plethora
See it go by
As seasons change, the forests disappear before his waking eyes
In his torrid glass house he waits to discover her
And shattered, his broken heart falls to the earth, inverted
Yet with such love he leaves the traveler:
Luscious dream work, blue skies and jazz filled halls
The memorial of a vanishing flood
After the avalanche has taken his draught
An arrow strikes him in the back
His blood nourishing the grass
Copyright © Zhian Mostofi | Year Posted 2012
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