Behind yourself the season fades,
As winter in comforts raids,
Blissful mere forgotten
Blues in spring and Sunday homes,
Surmising decorum again,
Some fancy chapels in parade,
Festival aimed to secure trades,
Jarred homes to stay,
Comforts of nailing supremacy.

Picture sudden rocks and greens
Imagine mountains and valleys,
What does it bring about?
Seasonal change, secure legions.

If anything, ‘tis us,
To see in all a tiny drop,
The mountain evening sun.
And God’s my inflated echo,
When I look down and build.

There must be a time in fantasy,
Mine to meet honesty,
Times you lied or said,
Charging useless air,
Fighting beats us in the game.

Perspective! Yes! Why not?
My life in collection abandons,
Photographs of formal shades,
Corner to corner, center in trade,
Gathered images at the death bed,
All of them real…

Envy the pleasures seek,
Empty kindness, but you,
Heavens or paradise fail,
Arising aids many, but falter every day,
As much as the friend had to stay.



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