Gone before long, such a shame
A moment into his voyage, he capsized in a watery grave of lily pads.
She sang to him, she lured him in, with crystal petals and a mischievous grin.
Intoxicated by flowers, and inebriated by lust, her voice reverberated within his head,
And whimsically, she braids her hair, and watches his boat break among stones.
Just another fool, yet another fool
And the love of a fool doesn’t last very long,
So he may as well suffer a siren’s song.
I see a cloud hovering above the lake, meandering somberly over the trail. The water longed to fly off like the mallards, rolling like cotton across the water.
Fog, lucky you. I grow weary too. The heavy mist conceals my vision, but the breeze blows it softly until it disappears.
I want to fall into pieces, light and dewy, and take off with the wind at dusk. And after the sunlight illuminates the droplets with rainbows – so as to make my last appearance beautiful – I want to begin again.
Up in the sky, in a cloud, a brand new raindrop with no memories of the grimy pond, the darkness or the cold. A rain drop won’t grow old. Neither will it die, but it will collide into the sky and become new, unjaded and unabused.
How I envy you.