Opaque and vaporous
scenery inspired me to...

I was never one to lay like the cowardly dog
who curls up in the creases of mother's arms...

She wonders why everyone falls against her,
not using her creative muse for development...

The seasons bring a multitude of colours
that seem to grow more beautiful with age...

The colorless boardwalk
of my life runs on...

Autumn waltzes through cornfields, harvesting
song like devout farmers who chant to weak crops...

One bolt of
lightning...

Whitespire's low canopy hung off long hand...
while the sour birch prostrated before your beady...

I am a messenger,
delivering priceless sermons...

Narnian dreams attached to lunchbox stickers,
rustic doorknobs, and squealing windows...

Has anyone seen the legible clues,
read between the hands of time that our world...

[There's no one quite like you]...
When the storm beats against us...