Silken skin verses the mobility of
static agitation, it sways like a lullaby
before there contemplation  guiding them
to the slow asphyxiation of innocence.

They sway hypnotic, like a chime of
footsteps yet to be trod upon. But we
focus I'm mirages of what we gander upon,
A swing of past memories to hang on.

Were diluted within an impression that we
linger on. Our dreams are motionless when
we collect as nourishment for the unmoved
earth beneath our dreams.

"We swayed in the imagining of reality,
*"Till our dreams decayed like fallen petals.