Pink champagne rivers roll salmon colored skies
I write not for my own health, but towards our own
Demise, into love, I pull ye, back from the dead, my heart
Ticking like bomb, melts sheds tears often shed, I, here
Eye, compassionate dear, I, teach you to acknowledge the
Eye missing within ye, eye eye, here. Captain in storms once
Bled, down with the ship, you ask me how I laugh instead
It's either as captain, or orchestra goes, in cold deep dark
Waters or stowed in ship below, or perhaps watching you
On that light linen dark haunted bed, curtains pulled back
Sun launching rays instead, I rather listen to laughter of
Crazy old mystics, laughing how they perchance missed one
This shifts, fortune upon where I hear once again, it is I yes
These eyes, that will be in long quilted bed, long before this World
Even found it's out, Things it once held, to our head we are filled
With Sprouts, This World will know grace, long after I am dead
I could lie and say I missed it, but by then I'll be happy and fed.
Christopher Baird 2012 ©
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