Extraterrestrial Younglings

Technicolor Zombies

Sprouting out of a spiny trunk,

colours look not how they are supposed to.

A veil is dyeing the air with a spurious tint.

Avail is dying, their hopes of deliverance with it.

Yet, are the tones behind the curtain truly in key?

Reminds me of a cubist I know

The Trees Revere You

When you walk at night,

the moon envies you.

The sun is jealous

when you're awake.

Grey clouds turn to snow

that blows when you go out.

The trees revere you,

for the only one

who can read the water drops

hanging from their leaves,

is you.