More prompts from Sheat13

    I'm discreetly on a tree in the leaves.
Filling my life with meaning,
Spinning my thin thread.
There are many of us in the tree
And each one is born a silkworm
And spins its own thread
And the seas were filled to the brim with drops,
And the stones are joined together by grains of sand,
Eternity must be such a long time.
I've only got my tiny contribution to make,
In my short life I could weave
A thread of silk.
Some are caught in the web of religion,
Some are delusional about aliens from Mars,
I'm spinning my own delicate thread.
Some discover the secret of the universe
Some struggle with the hardness of stone,
I'm spinning my own thread
I can't do anything else
I'm a little worm
The world's a crazy place that goes by 
And we make with our hands
Weightless, thin fabrics
The beauty is tangible
    A floating corpse on a lafette,
Behind it the dancing youths,
Through the slit of licked lips.
You can hear the bells of brains.
The sobbing country
Drowning in green snot,
Hope has touched bottom,
The bottom in hot coals.
The soot of farewell speeches
Over the mown field of carnations,
A full of tears human stream,
Drowning in its own cry.
In the gold of mourning ribbons
The sunbeam plays,
The letters of new legends
In the land of endless clouds.
And someone breathed the air of the wind's change,
And someone threw back his chair,
Hanging half a meter high 
Somebody shouted “Hooray!”
And the echoing bird flew through the streets,
Fluttering through the city till morning
The white feathers of the dawn made them sparkle.
And then all will share, but not share.
The abomination will present new faces.
Others will come to eat,
The long-waiting, angry ones,
And they'll tear to pieces
What's left
They'll make pity true
They'll bleed.
Much. Again. Again.
And all we want is warmth
And all we want is light
Springtime So that our bodies
Through dreams to summer.
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