Our perfect and pristine worlds hide a dark secret
Away the ides of March
Decades of decay
Swept from northern winds
Forms softened patinas.
Reclaim forgotten ruins
From the forrest returns nature
Where all appears lost
Comes the decay.
Moments appear fleeting
The dreams like totems
Convey muddled meanings
Where dusk appears murky.
The journey completed
Where all appears found
Returned to the forrest
Comes the decay.
