Nestled in between the cattail rows and water lilies
I can see the brink of the world, and beyond
A patchwork of vibrant colors brimming with mist
Accented and framed with bright linings of vitality
I count on aster petals, seven gleaming droplets of dew
Each holds a reflection of the horizon within its glassy sphere
A scene of marked contrast to its sanctuary...
Blossoms, flake and bleed
Beads drawn from foul smoke, black tears that stain
Echoes of the tainted earth, now contemplate
The mournful sunset, and behold
This canvas of grass, daubed in dyes of waning light
And spectral night, descends and seeps
From the land, through scars and cracks
Spreading like spilled poison, a sickness that touches corners
Edges, borders and horizons
Fade away like embers, they repose
In mountains of ash, and wither into
The color of cold rain, gravestones, and a forlorn soul
Nestled in between the cattail rows and water lilies
I can see the brink of the world, and beyond
There remains only desolation.