Birds dyed in neon colours tweet
Enchanting tunes
As if they attempt to invoke
Morning's presence.

In the near-night morning

When the sun

Battling timidity

Avoided approaching the skies.

When birds laid slain with sleep

When the day

Had of late, been begotten

And laid suckling in the rocking ***** of time.

Upon an insomnia-provoked thought I pondered.



Wondering what the age of the sun might be.

Delved into some critical reasoning here.

Danced to the beats of deep philosophizing there.

Borrowing Plato's cloak....





The sun

Impregnated with heat

She sprays the earth with good shining.

Negotiating with darkness

She innovates light.

She constantly radiates a golden smile.

NO WRINKLES IN HER EYES, LIE!



Alas! Alas!

My thoughts procreated futility.

We may never know the age of the sun.

Saiĺing in life's boat
Tides rising high, shall you ride
Or dive in water?

Night flees in darkness,
     day sleeps. Now knocks on my door
             shall I say "come in?"

She turns her compass

at her wish



Joyful or sad

pleased or mad



She inches  or flees

regardless.

The dandelion sends off its seeds, hoping they'll land on the moon.

I too look up with hope in my heart, though I taste the sour cream of defeat on my tongue and my skin is scarred, thanks to my experiences.

I hear a voice whisper "The brutal winds shall tarnish all of your efforts" Deep down within me, I feel convinced that I shall still give it a try.

The field, which was once gold and brown, littered with dead leaves, is occupied by fresh green grasses.

They are so green and bursting with hope. Then the most convincing smell of victory approaches my nose.

I sniff it in, I am consoled when I see that the dandelion sends off its seeds, hoping they'll land on the moon.