The Order of the world

All things desire a greater truth,

A mantle upon which necessity must lie,

But in spacious destinies,

There is room for cancers to grow,

Fruits which are too tall to be picked,

From trees whose branches are withered,

And only the rotten fruits will fall to the ground,

The ground itself turned tar-black

.

Stars swim above us, dripping in glory,

Above spring’s burgeoning blades of grass,

Is this not enough?

We dodge the dread illumination,

Hollow lights cast into an unreal reality,

Is this not everything you could ever want?

The best berries are to remain untasted,

Glowing impeccable, childlike sincerity

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