Fusing now a reasoning with barks,
Long orders painting me a mighty pedant,
Though the track of things does bear itself more prone:
To rigour, clarity and prescient thought.

I'm transported to a rainy world in blue,
The sky is shaded mint - the drops of rain a gentle hue,
To dash the world in reverie,
The verdant meadow splashes new,
Like watercolour on the air above,
A turquoise in the lazy droplets,
Glistening the grass like morning dew,
Abandon and a reckless walk,
To feel the falling rain strike softly on my hair,
To spend a moment as the pitter patter,
To watch it colour glasses sparkling and blue,
To patter by the dreamy view.

I'm afraid to inform you:
That this poem is about what rocks dream of.

An oblique darkness warps the empty sight,
Impenetrable night drapes curtains over the numerous veils behind,
They fall backwards unto infinity,
Yet depth itself is the lonely remnant of a dream to them,
A dream filled with disquieted mute tones,
A symphony too quiet for the ears,
A sight beyond the horizon,
The present sits uncomfortably disjointed from this land,
Maybe such a thing can be considered oblivion.