They told me to watch the skies

for dragons that fly between

the moon and mountains that rise

above the ocean that doth sheen.

Sightless skies that are pushed around by footless winds.

And the tulips beneath shed their silk-soft skins.

Yet the dragons remain harmless still.

As still as the motionless hill.

As stoic as the abandoned mill.

Exuding harmony but lacking thrill.

No, it is them you should look out for not the flying dragons.

They pickpocket and then get away beneath the backs of wagons.

The dewdrops, they gleam against the moonlight.

And all is silent and zen when the clock strikes midnight.

But when the sun comes to rise

they spread chaos,

and the "peasants" are just as bad so spare them your pathos.

There are thieves and murderers,

black market owners,

stolen lives, spilt blood and missing goods,

running money and pulled hoods.

Oh, let the moon bless the town with the integrity its people lack.

For if it won't then I'm afraid they'll be lost to the dark, the black.

Turn to the moonlight for hope.

Look to the starlight from the side of the slope.

Read the constellations, horoscope.

Let them guide you away, to a new place.

Where a new people will flourish with the virtue of grace.

︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎

ద ద 𖦊 ꪉ 𐀔 𐃸 ద 𖦊 ʊ

༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ᜊ ༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

ద ༒

༒ . ༒

༒ . . ᰔ

༒

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