Fred tiptoed into his room and slid into his desk chair, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he opened his laptop. Typing as quietly as he could, he logged onto Artium Obscurorum and ... [+]
My face is full of flowers;
Given or gathered, who knows?
Whichever the scenario,
They seem to make the world, my world—glow.
Colors popping like fireworks up close:
Pink, purple, red, orange, blue, green, and yellow too
Make my vision fuzzy as if
I was staring through glasses made of fluffy cotton balls.
What a view.
If only creatures knew the beauty of these glasses;
The way they revive the mind is magical
From their clearly unclear sights
And their perverse windows of clarity between the stems.
Planted, picked, born, reborn, every day,
No matter the season,
It's funny how through their fuzziness,
I still get to see.
Given or gathered, who knows?
Whichever the scenario,
They seem to make the world, my world—glow.
Colors popping like fireworks up close:
Pink, purple, red, orange, blue, green, and yellow too
Make my vision fuzzy as if
I was staring through glasses made of fluffy cotton balls.
What a view.
If only creatures knew the beauty of these glasses;
The way they revive the mind is magical
From their clearly unclear sights
And their perverse windows of clarity between the stems.
Planted, picked, born, reborn, every day,
No matter the season,
It's funny how through their fuzziness,
I still get to see.