Small pebbles crash through ashen skies,
So intricate and divine.
They pitter patter the pane.
Window pane;
Inner pain.
Cracked and spidering;
The sensation remains the same.

Snapping crisp twigs like heartstrings.
Plucking the chords on this beating violin,
A somber sound barrels around  cathedral ceilings,
Dripping melodies in pools at the edges of cold lips.

Victorian grace with hippie peace.
What a hollow sound without the clash of chaos you bring.
Oil and water, emulsified.
Fire and ice, married.
Beautiful chaos, skyward bound.
Earth to ash, burried.