by Aaron Faust

Created on: July 20, 2011

Little tenderfoot walker, come 'round where the daffodils bloom.
Then see, half-pence, a lightened heart's struggle for solitude
In the midst of napalm phantoms looming in the night.
Bat wings blackened guide my little tenderfoot to her immortal
Spring where the heart is strong.
A luscious laughter escapes lamenting lips, beat after tragic
Beat, bursting to convey a war of the senses.
A nightmare construct flashes obsidian heartstrings on tales of
Envy as the locusts of yesteryear waltz to chimes in the wind.
What hath my salvation wrought, little tenderfoot?
Tell me, are the flowers yet dying?
Are the dreams yet perverse and vile?
Have the children yet fallen unto shadows of the luminous
World's design?
If so, mark it.
Take thine bleeding hand and infect the rot of the somber
Dead with your love.
Learn from them the legends of light and, in turn, teach them
To dance once more.

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