A rippled sky, waylaid
projected by reflected light
on the floor beneath my feet
On top of the pitch it seems–
like starry nights with echoed rings

A dauntless guardian, still
in protecting those under him,
avoiding the meteored blues
Its fruitful arms extend–
to reach children, prideful and anxious

The downpour of thoughts, torrential
ravaging the inner workings of a rippled mind
muddy with unsolicited fetor
Misfortune had her way–
with the brine on this man's body

Offsprings of a frothy child, joyful
jumping on the heads of
worn down golemns
Nurturing weaponized yet–
repressed emotions that fell prey to false empathy

From the canvass sea to the mirrored sky
travelling through concrete mattresses and blankets pure
and men,
They seem to neglect this jubilee
because of the sadness its aftermath brings