Essence ingrates itself within bones,
a pulsing mirage of violet light,
a quiet stroke of fate deep within,
who can hear it against your mountains?
The vale of strength has been withdrawn,
simpering and streaming through my valleys,
running deep with ancient gods,
scales glint in the absence of light.
The quiet here breathes beautiful.
The strings had been lost, now reemerging,
glistening in the red of your nights,
listen to the depth of my breathing.
Speaking without moving,
tattered phrases amongst words that were
lost beneath the shadows of your forests.
Let the plains stand for themselves.
There is beauty in their depth and breadth,
the wind caressing softly,
so different from the haunted wails from above.
The silence bleeds beauty.
The moonlight blesses all equally,
silver soft caress kisses meaning into everything,
the red mountains cannot crush the silver plains,
no matter how they might cry out and tremble.
Each lofty pebble trickles to the flatness
its fragile strength abandon