Green hill

Green horse with wings
Racing and dissolving into flame,
Then nothing but grey fumes
And a fallen star to the right of night.
It’s metabolism or a trending schism,
The reason for trauma, a held up stigma.
Conscious of
Strains put upon my flesh
When the rhythms were untied but oddly still meshed.
Fourty hundred thousand crashed
That night I severed the dream from the root of me.
We weren’t but enemies,
Strangers at different speeds.
Fell astray and fell aggrieved,
Nothing ever touch the root of me.

The telepath screams,
The seams seem to rip by different means.
Different teams surrender,
If you have wounds then you shall mend ‘em.
Frozen strings don’t work in tandem,
It’s physics and I mean it.
I’m sorry it sounds brutal,
At some point I’ll summon nunace, but it’s too early to be old and done with,
There’s so much we need to see still.
Let not sadness interfere,
Let not sadness have its will.

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