There is joy
 In weighted chest and heavy breathes.
And something wholly different about the world,
Seems to seep,
 In through weakly gazing eyes.

The world is slow with gloom;
Trees make lazy shakes
And cars roll silently,
Their sounds far off from here.

There is painted depth in every piece
A world taken in repose,
Each detail can be felt,
Not with senses, but with soul.

When sadness strikes your senses,
Makes them numb and cold,
Let the world slip in gently,
Have beauty take its toll.