If then by the river where tears are hung low and stream albeit with its flow, then I must remind myself to fly with the blueness of my sacred scars.

I must peek around the bushes of this musky forest and hung low beneath the painted glass sky, where painted by shallow blue and bland pinkish canvas and clouds hanging grey and brisk.

I must learn to be still where birds flee when they gather around my presence and sing screeches of pain and hope.

I must lie down the billowy surge of these big waves that tries to weigh me down; for I must learn how to sing under the water and keep my nose dry and eyes swelling while I was beneath the painted glass sky.

For even when the trinket beads of my sweats holler at the sight of my numb hands and feet carried away by the quantum of the deep blue sea and the way it glorify the kiss of the clouds,

I must be like the rain so I can stay gloomy forever and the river may have its story to tell how its philanthropy saved me from a bucket of bloods from the war.

Dark clouds in the sky
gathered there all seem to be
messengers of rain
____

Your emerald eyes
pierced through the lavender moon
sheltered by blue

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, stuck in crowds makes me yearn for the invisible:)

such a shame to wish the invisible

anymore not compromising with the ****** gone inevitable

doubt the crowd

all hate all loud

sprinkling poison drops in sounds

unmerciful on my exquisite highs of skied clouds

last night would never come past this already nor around

                                                                                      -------ravenfeels