an illustration of rapture

Should we paint the walls

Endearingly commanded love

The kind that comes paired with failure

Souring of a fruit

That turned the skies mood

I choose yellow

The tree so loud it echoed

Stand up straighter

Bouncing off the irrepressible depth of the stone’s hue

Now you’re someone I don’t recognize too

So, do we paint the walls

As if to cover up the present mood

Candence, violent

 As in the old man who hollers time

On every page

Ridiculous wander, love, thanks

Being, acting out space

A con, abhorrent

Unanchored to the sun

Look up at the moon

But her eyes never shifted

From the network of cogs below the rocks

To rise at her expense

The evergreen refrain blows ash

Assumptions of forever

But in the end, everything already exists