A barren prairie took the ultimate journey and left no seed.
It carcass gazed upon a bare firmament- souless still.
Its regret upon its spirit, a beauty now forfeited.
Lush greenness faded amply into a brownish spree.
Nature is now here, rooted with it's eerie blessing.
The holy twin-moments visits in simultaneous spree,
With cloaks and skins of gloomy tints yet of faded glints.
Folklores preached, tales cursed still, that the gods freaked.
Watching with hollow eyes a transition of ugly wits.
Folklores words sounded right, tagging the gods as sick.
A realm of darkness and that of sun-lit brightness.
They are the kingdom of the moments.
One time we shall close our eyes, glad that a moment is here.
That he shall bless us with a transformed era.
But many the times had we open our eyes into a familiar expanse.
A cinnamon expanse that neither darkness nor brightness beautify.
The moments only brought hopes, dragging them to a peak of height.
Only had we open our eyes to see black made from brown.
Or had we gazed upon brown made from black.
We'd wish for the firmament's mercy for some tears of joy.
Yet it laid wasted, azure, with bright bareness.
We summoned on the gods to please give her her spirit.
The prairie we once cherished is now our misery.
But always had we hold her memories in high spirits.
Maybe one day she shall gain her spirit.
And dusk and dawn upon this great land.
Shall be moments to expect some new great forms.
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