Symphony For Stringed Instruments

Grey mist creates a smaller world the eye strains To see beyond the possible, where only the inner Vision can see the unseen for which it can´t blink Close an eye, or turn away from disgusting truths. Dull miasma dreamy as passing melancholy, turns Angel white burnoose at dawn, with a hint of rusty Harp strings, a whiff of green straws, full of tears That will be handed out to children under five. Aurora, the Roman Goddess of daybreak, when Natural light puts night in a sack and throws it down A well where nights of horror dwell but refuse to Be still forever trying to escape its own darkness, Longing to be back in some ones head, pining to Be formidable and strong, but the day will not let it.