As dawn breaks upon the silent sylvan, the sun pierces the clouds with a mighty phalanx of shimmering sarissas.
The ravens cackle their clamorous, cacophonous call.
The sun’s skirmish over the solemn sea of nebulous nimbi forces the gray void to a rout.
The radiant beams of the victorious sun permeate life into the sylvan.
The trees and flowers sway with delight feeling the sultry presence of their victorious King. That all-seeing eye of heaven, the sun, burns at a distance despite his ruddy touch. Then comes dusk, the inexorable coming of darkness, drinking away the vibrant vat of the heavens. The ebon ink restores the suppressive tranquility that intoxicates the sylvan.

The Event Horizon takes
Its coffee black

The Milky Way takes
It with cream and sugar

Here comes Mr. Chemtrail--
Pretty jets
Stream across the sky
By day, at night
They're tucked into cushy
Launching pads;
To sleep like us
Underneath the stars,
Drooling like a baby;
The rains of which wash away
Our Happy Tomorrow sign,
Written in sand
Across a hiraeth seashore;
With bountiful aura,
Everything is smelling like roses
Kept in the fuselage,
Waiting for a turn
To shine, perhaps ignite,
In all the glamour of
A shooting star:
Great godless geyser;
A prism of colors
Rain-bowing
Electively over funeral flowers,
This death was always meant
To be a friend with benefits,
Allowing us one last
Glorious ride into the heavens,
Before overtaken
By the undertaker;
The sky's the limit,
Steely-eyed missile man;
We're terminal now
And on final approach,
Bleed for us once more...