I want to hold our darkness and bury it under an autumn tree,
let it rest on a pillow of cripsy golden leaves as the static in the air
plays one last sonata, just for the beauty of it.
And maybe then we could forget that we were never the earthy.
We'll set the wind ablaze and pull at our chains
until our toes can kiss the mossy ground again.
Because after all this time,
I still hope for the warmth of morning dew to penetrate our limbs
even if by now, I should know better than to dream
of turning barren land into sea.
But if we get lucky, the mud will stick to our skin
and we'll pretend to be free.
The pale offspring of the night sky
will finally roam the swamps of the other kingdom,
holding hands with the children of the Wild Ones,
We could leave our darkness to rot under the roots of the autumn tree
and shed the shadows we outgrew on the pillow of crispy golden leaves.
And wait for the static in the air to play one last sonata.
Just for the beauty of it.