Untitled

Waves of tribute

brought forth from space

schemes so grand

ready in a loaded gun

without warnings

without a trace.

Soul of the world,

is it

that make our hearts

inclined to love

or scream with hate?

senses divided

or uncontrollable

after all

sickly excuses

some might call fate.

Who indeed

clouts the seeds

of seas

for us to swallow waves

with a primitive kiss?

glassy comfort

one can bare with ease

but what lurks beneath

in hidden depths of trying shadows

only with both eyes open

can one witness

this.