A mountainous range stood before the happy Spring
For the health of his hand hung in the balance
Everlasting broken bodies remembering through the sky,
Crooked smiles were calmed as the heads rolled along the turquoise tiled floor.
Among the heathen, Hades brings heartbroken sacrifice.
Opium dens switch from the salmon llama
Singing of contempt, sweetend-like dreams I dreamt,
O’ Spring what are you, when are you?
Our wings radiated like Taurus in the sky
Winter gave its all, but lost bitter sweet to time.
Marked in time, hanging with a depressor of others.
Stalking nothing like it was struck–Just like a ball of wax
Buried in the sand, a solitary hair stuck out.
Compassionate, washed over he like a rapid flow,
Diving in a lake of drear, Season found a golden emotion
Even as they flee,
Spring turns to see the broken body Winter chasing him into the sanctuary
O’ melancholy world past, you have jabbed me again
But to rise.
Ian V. Seymour ©1993