In the shadow of the incorrigible hour,
When I dream of the unknown,
Silently, caressing the peels of red,
Riding through those ridges,
Moment by moment.
I wait for an orange,
To warm my hope to a possibility,
Easing the swollen fiber, smearing
A soothing balm on my entirety.
In the blue of the upside,
Grinning softly at us,
The silence clinks as would
Chimes, on a perfect day,
On whose neck, ran the fingers
Of a playful breeze.
On the edge of life,
Here seems an ideal spot,
Where the embryo of conscience,
Can plot a rebirth.
This cold bend, in the nothingness
That chokes me, I am forced to breathe,
That which shall ignite.
And brew my dear dream.