Zen Rage

Zen Rage

Wounded… The White Winged one rises from his pain…

Bloodied and Torn, He makes his way across the White Sands…

Casting his Gaze to the Red Sky…

He wonders why

As The Moon rises…

He Takes rest by a Cool Blue, Green Pond of Light

Within its Waters, The Reflection of a Wounded Bird

The Darkened Gaze, of someone who cared

The Stars Fill the sky…

Like Clockwork in the Night

He falls face first into the Still Warm White Sand…

Soon he shall Wake, and start again



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