When the days turn into night
As the trees begin to bend
And blend into the background
Where the branches caught the light;
A silhouette was born of
A beautiful lady with tons of babies
In the shape of pods and leaves
Cradled in limbs of a righteous morning;
You cannot begin to notice the beautiful
Bonnets with honest skin complexions
In mourning to the adoring sunlight
That was closer in the end
Of the night's life direction
When they were graced by dew
And grew from the moonlight residue
Acting as a prism to a light beam;
It might seem like a Technicolor shower
Because the hour on the sun dial
Is at the time of dawn
When a rainbow births an awe
In all of an audience that's under stress;
A damsel in distress and a man that takes the rest.
Why yes, it is the best to address
The unconscious mob of nonsense-holding,
Job loathing weekend dependent
Descendants of a long line of workers
And berserker in moldings
Corresponding with the dress
We're all told to dance in while courting
To a less gingerly process;
If it weren't for these people
Then pupil's wouldn't be peeking through peep holes
To notices the natural lukewarm
Dew that brews a shower that consumes
The cowering bodies of all the people
Carrying botany in pottery
And the trees that breathe in ease
When the breeze from a whistling sunshine
Promotes a realization of the
Concurring civilization that is our nation.
My day ends; my time mends.
My night absorbs the ripe colors
That the daylight then present
With the many different shades of black,
A pallet with the ability to erase tracks
On the Rat Racetrack
In which we all come in contact with
A forked tongue seeping its words into the roads.
Paupers and rogues coming close
Behind these blackened skeletons
Which once hung with those
Who aspired to be the umpire
For higher problems wearing robes
But couldn't use his gavel to build clones.
As these skeletons regenerate
And in their place there is a face
Of a beautiful lady;
No longer a silhouette
But with an emerald dress
And a ruby necklace laced down her chest
I found beauty;
The morning struck a chord
That made the rouges retreat
Into the forest where she sleeps.
She is a leader,
A lover a mother a fighter.
A beauty in my life
That spreads rapidly like fire;
But doesn't consume,
It comforts then blows up like balloons;
With beautiful buds of red and orange
That bloom instead of forage;
The plumage is her evidence that she is a girl;
The world shows she's our origin.
