Orange oceans
without depth,
nor shade
remain
never-blue.

Hanging from the sky :
a summit, a toe, a hope, and
those that the fingertip can't reach.
Without doubt, it stays asleep.
Until serendipity embraces
dreams into wakefulness.
At that—reality coincidentally doubts itself,
and forever will illusions be given the
confidence to live.

When the world is new, gone are the old.
Here where houses grow first than trees.
More men born in shrinking lands.
Women buried under protest for reality.
So mother is ever sicker.
When will she be free!

After the unfelt,
Your consciousness
barely escapes the
gloomy word
Death,
so as it is forgotten,
a shower from rain
pushes your shoulder to your chest,
and
the thought of rain piercing the heart
made you kneel to the ground,
submerging you into a pause
yet silence did not come after,
only the brightening of the dark sky
was felt but of no relief.

To the recipient;
not yourself,
nor myself,
nor the reader,
but the one i forgot the name of

Sorrows thrown into the river of styx.
Proselytising raindrops to teardrops.
Cry me an alter alternate reality.
Dark abstruse universe within me.
Water ran a blithe obscurity.
Now, give your last line.