Buranko

wait- is this a dream or a nightmare? it can't be... The Sun shaked his head

their purple flowers, a warning to the foolish enough to taste them

breaking up the black are sun patches, on the floor; pieces of morning

out of love with spring, in love with the summer sun, ah! molten ice-cream...

along the thin branch chestnut blossoms; reborn out of this cold weather

Songs that sound hopeful shatter the darkest corners, giggles and laughters

a heavenly earth and a hellish, little town ah, opposition

Rainbow in the rain And letters in a book. I Have flown on paper

dancing with the beat of a starlit sky; time stopped hearts halted, to watch.

In the cold of the night My mind wanders seamlessly; The dead of the day.

Imagining dreams; Resonating fingers on The table of grass.

I never noticed The green shadows of sunlight Which has yet to grow

So the fault is mine This decision, unleashed from The infernal depths

and trying to swim is the proper way to write southern poetry.

like lion, like lamb, the friendly gazes of a desperate sunset