To Gaze At The Clouds As They Grow Sick

He wandered upon the frozen stones of a grassen hill

To gaze at the lives beneath his feet

One little cricket came to his need

To shed some melodies for the ear

He looked back at his empty spot

Mist and air so cloudy, the sight was brief

How did the creatures live down there?

The cricket's song and gentle breeze in night,

Surrounded and held him accompanied

Mere fools, did they have a purpose?

To conquer and spill blood of other's shells

Who could have guessed it would happen so?

A crowned being from up above, that high?

He sighed his sigh, and in the wind whirled fog

Cricket's song turned softer, and lower

As he watched the people with a blank face

The deeds they had done, the utter sins so cruel

Who could have known, since long before?

This one, but his name is gone now far away

And won't ever return to his broken heaven

So soothing the cricket plays, and the breeze so calm

Here he shall sit for another century

And gaze at the clouds go sicker

He blinks with the tired eyelids

’The god before me is not dead it seems

For this shattered realm is beyond all help

To save this, is to die and die countless times, and again

This melancholy sight will he see everyday

No different than all those other years

For he will not die until the world is a myth

He shuts his mirrors and whispers the wind in movement

This voice of the ambience is what only a few can hear


... Hear his shallow whisperings ...

The End

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