Harvest

Feelings stacked in cold storage,
Packed meat on the shelves of a soul,
Would you ever know whats strange,
If the strange was your world,
And moments of illusions flitter by,
Butterflies of a dead spring,
Broken leaves shimmering behind a mirror sky,
Shaded sunlight glinting on the eagle's wing,
The velvetine waters caress the dirt,
Molding the shaped into the faded,
And the colored blankness of the burnt,
Beauty in its conformance, sterile,
Now meant to rise to the ground,
Softness engraved in its skin, puerile,
Purple fairies dance before blue eyes,
Wild, hypnotic under the harvest moon...