Waking in the twilight morn
In the blooming of a dead garden
The shrill crying of a smiling child
Breaks the biased calm.
The laughter breaks as if it’s shattering
Upon the chilled air of the warming sky
The sounds of thunder emits from the ground
Shaking the serene grasp of reality.
The crystal daggers streams from the clear sky
Breaking the flesh of hard skin
The blood boils in the chilled gash
And dripped harshly on the broken truth.
The fantasy breaks and I am reborn
Awakening into my real world
Where nothing is different and nothings the same
And where nothing is unbalanced.