I am new to this world.
And yet sometimes I drown myself in music.
Gather the sheets closer to me, bunch them up in front of my heart,
Lest a stray shot pierce it.
A drunk stranger once told me that there are places where,
Hiding is not escaping.
Beneath the orange autumn I tried opening my eyes.
but I did not see- the immeasurable beauty of freshly sprung yellow,
Nor did I see the smiling eyes of a proud mother.
I will never see the fine dust from a crumbling leaf.
Yet there I stand, I can see the fire approaching, beyond the orange glow.
Beyond the fierce orange of an angry sunset,
I can see the pain- twisting.
What is this life?
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