Damnation scorned by the vibrant earth.
Clouds burst from their sanctioned birth.
Sky is eating the hardened glow.
There is no heard screaming from down below.
The blown notion finds its place buried beneath the sand.
No one could have known of its magnificent row.
I know it, though.
It likes me, it grows alone.
Once distant from the sewn lands below.
Do yours comb through every tomb?
Or are you the one whom seeks forlorn?
Is this where we differ?
