December 6, 2007

For Rest...

A leaf dangles,
In between the currents,
The beam of light pierces through the
minute dome,
And falls apart - scatters around.
Meanwhile a young eagle takes to the skies,
Some stormy skies.

In the bamboo forest,
It is there i like to nap,
The wind winds through
the multitude of beams,
Echoes of their peace.
It crawls under my skin.

The sun too,
Casts a shadowy dance,
of grassy leaves.
It is then when i hear,
An eagle cry.
Its the same as the one,
From the stormy sky.

The spirit inside is of a demon,
A collosal race, forgotten in the mist.
But some things are better off,
Like a charred quartz.
I'm mildly insane...

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