Brittle branches—unstable if touched.
A river, so blue, yet green rushes
Violently like Romans charging to battle.
Robotic birds gawk at your poise and
Confusion; they breath heavily.
The sun still peaks to check to see if
You are still sane—you are only slightly.
Thoughts fall like acorns from the tree hitting the trunks like ping-pong.
A wind of heavenly hosts rock you to sleep—to peace.
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