a momentary severity
in the place we hold so dearly
like how the sun protrudes
through the dark cloudy atmosphere,
laying stiffly by the soil
the grass enriched and soaking through
without quite realizing
we revolve in our globes reality,
smitten by the greed
and sweet, sweet affection
the stench of weary muscles
and teeth from chewing
all the **** which feeds,
take care, to each and every
pair of glistening eyes,
manipulation of reality, that's who we are
assassins dwelling in the crevasses
where the soil no longer holds
and flowers do not breed,
sitting in our thrones
and sipping our cups of tea
fooling that's a healthy thing to do
yet, in the decay of withering trees
internal manifestation and resentment,
the fever have spoiled in our very pores
choosing to simply ignore