Rains quench the thirst of
the surface world,
Speckling the barrier between worlds
The turmoil outside is only a reflection.
To and Fro,
Round and round the outliers go,
Hunting for the fallen food from the hands
of fleshy Gods above,
The albino chases the dove,
Each color is not still
Mixing with each red and gold,
The water world is tolerant.
Scattered into the depths,
Fright clutching their gills leaving mouths
gasping for air,
Why would Gods cast the first stone?
Each moment is a loop never forgotten,
Denial was a foot-hole in the garden,
Each day repeats itself with a sprinkler at 5 AM.