Greenhouse was my life’s namesake,
Perfect lukewarm light poured in from all sides,
The hard translucence held back my heart-warmth
And the mercury stayed put on my blood’s barometer.
Not an apparition but a peace, quite true,
Reigned over my concrete cloud-like kingdom anew.
Unaware of how the lines of exclusivity,
Can be hastily blurred,
When my greenhouse stood as prime witness,
To the silver liquid rising
Within the glass tube,
Brooks trickling down the pale valley,
Was the best substitute for screams of
Lava spurting from the tracheal volcano.
Prediction failed creation and its creator,
Oceans of realities seemed to be a borderline tsunami
As the stratospheric saviour
Was pricked and burst,
And the separate entity became inseparable.
However, it still exists.
Although its beige-bright achievements are
Now downplayed and
The opacity has set in
For it waits, regrettably, with all will,
To get to play the universe’s upcoming disasters.
But has its insides ever seen the ferocious jaws