From off the pores of pitch-black skin,
Floyd's soul saps aways,
Little by Little,
One last time
One last effort
One last fruitless plea
In tinny scraps of air
Pushed up from greying lumens
Sourly yields a quashed neck coldening ,
The sore man sighs the last of life,
The man with the loathed shade met his end

Late summer evening, close to the lake.
sitting on the honey tabled bench
snacking on sweet berries,
watching the sweaty children go cannonballing
into coldening water.
A swift breeze between the trees,
a soft kiss swims through the darkening leaves
entering my eyes as a ray of light.
A quiet hymn leaving her lips,
a lullaby of our ancestors,
napping in the air and seducing me to sleep.
A warm embrace from mother nature herself,
sending her heat through the fields.
The golden grass bends in the sun
the sleeping deer releases a sigh
I look towards the sunset mountains
and breathe in my orange surroundings