Spring cleaning
By

    The grass sword,
    bitter as acid,
    seeks vengeance on
    white silk
    left, destroyed,
    in the hands of
    blood milk
    for recuperation:
    insufficient.
    It lies in a
    bed surrounded
    by empty words
    and titles.
    Lost in eternity.
    Never found
    nor discovered.
    Essence unscathed

    I tried to eat
    the rain tonight.
    Eat it for the water,
    water for the white.
    Must relive that
    dreadful moment;
    tried and failed,
    time and time.
    Dreams of red,
    fulfilled at expense
    unforeseen, unpredictable.
    Expense of soul;
    soul of dust.
    And I vividly recall standing
    on the shoulders of giants
    only to see
    the feet of gods.

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