Stream 3: "August"

Days stained and bruised by time,

Evenings rusted by tainted emotions,

Sand through fingers fades in a lightning flash,

Time can't cascade like an evening river,

Gentle yet recklessly fast,

The spray a mist in the trembling air,

When everything is lit with oil-paint colours,

And touched with melted amber,

Until it slides below the glittering silver horizon,

Then ink eclipses the sky,

Rainfall of shattered crystals,

A pearl takes pride of place,

Each flower cups its own crystal bead of liquid,

A fairy's goblet,

All light is gone like a flickering flame blown out,

Just a scattering of metal shavings,

And a sphere of clouded glass light the way,

The world stands still,

Great oaks tauten their muscles and freeze,

Branches held in stiff resistance,

Only a browning leaf will dare to tremble,

Trying to break free,

From the wooden claws that imprison it,

Keep it there until it falls,

And rots in the ground's mass-grave,

Until it is only part of the earthen floor,

Nobody cares that they walk through the remains,

Of things that once lived,

Rotting, decaying things strewn around the forest floor,

Everything dies eventually, even stone erodes,

Soon we are just dust and ashes beading spiderwebs.

The End

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