reading time: less than 1 minute
When the dragons in the sewers awake,
disturbing a snoring red shimmer,
distantly nearby,
with color which matches eyes,
crawling from a green day,
and into a yellow evening.
Emerged.
That distasteful time,
dwindles in a burgundy corner,
pulsating with reminiscing,
such a bummer then,
and such a blessing now.
Never will return become,
but sickly,
special it remains.
That spot on the speck,
when the air stood still,
and a late-night crow,
sang for shakes to be.
When dark blue canyons reigned.
When winters withered nose hairs.
When crystals coated dry lungs,
and dry compassion.
Now a sharp, ruthless stream rages forth,
as a time of horrid then,
crafts and curdles,
into,
a mystic when.
