Beheld I The Nimbus Shed...

Caught my eye a spectacle delicate and sweet today, yet alas! burns my tongue at the apex if deny I its right address. 'Twas too delicate and with what falls my penchant a prey to, just with that exactness could I desire no more of.

Caught my eyes birds flock high up in the sky, amidst the gloomy grey yet, cerulean shade - an exquisite hue.

Sat I far from the parapet my dear, in case wonder thou within - a universe am juddered is my existence in; am I too afraid to behold myself there dwell. May I ask thou to render me aloof outside, just as a child has forsaken underneath the flash of a street light? Will I be fine?

Quiet is the respite. Ah! so quiet a respite yet, sense I mayhem in the midst of such stillness.

You! My mother! The question I if thou art here.

'Tis my birthday. Are you here?

Can I descry the silhouette of foliage the woody and tall tree of beetle nuts remains adorned with, on the few dregs of rain hath that collated themselves in a pit of the imperfect circle. Dances its reflection there for swings its body so slender in flexion that fear I will it come apart. But perseveres it with swings intrepid for me to look at! Ah! trembles my heart within my chest. But dances it a little more.

Stands it upfront, merely a few feet away, and I picture the face of the devil once more.

The fall is soft and heavy. Ah! light and violent. Blimey! 'tis halting and beginning to pour just like a waterfall of my tears. 

Lovers art we not but lovers were we in the blood of our kin who promise never to leave each other; a sequel they might gather, while rain scatters.

But lately, it's been one woe after another. One after one, inlaying mother-of-pearl on the drenched dust that sleeps undisturbed on the concrete. I see dews in line, drawn as if straight from my eyes.

Tweaks my recliner. I shift a little laterally.

Kindred fires - all washed away with this wet wind.

Yet, drops the heavenly water one by one.

drip, drip, drip, and whoosh! Here is a wave on the shoreline, and there it recedes in a high tide.

Drip, drip, drip! comes the dulcet downpour but killed is the segue.

Remains only a cacophony around - a babel would have Jesus despised.

Drip! Drip! Drip! A shiny layer of a swift jet, on glacier melting.