Finally off my list,
Collecting dust that nearly turned to mist,
A billowing fog up like a stench,
From sitting tasks which had been benched,
But now the chirping birds of sweet release,
Flock to my arms and my ears please.

My screen like blaring horns,
The light is brimming over,
Pouring out in rumbling rays,
My legs are drowned beneath,
And darker to my left they sit,
Like shadows to my right,
And front and back, the contrast!
Warped by blaring horns of light.