With their tails flashing,
A brilliant white light,
Followed behind,
And was lost inside itself.

Their white shadow,
the soft bellied burial,
the creamy innards of bliss,
the silky crystal sphere,
existing inside and outside itself.

The wind blows the sheet in
Whispered movements,
many wings fluttering on the face,
from my pavilion under the parasol,
smells of woody incense fumes,
The grey of the sky,
Such charisma floating around,
Lofty bounds over this crowd,
Still insanity reins,
Silvered veins holding golden steel,
Who tells you this is real?