You’d think the world were ending.
With how null-coloured cracks rack the sky.
And razor winds shred the upside down sea overhead,
Into shards of spray.
Too bold and too brazen, set sunlit clouds of envious hues
They form and dither without recollect of heart’s healing
There once was a stone Maker,
Of eponymous resolve,
Through every creative endeavor,
Had a conundrum to solve.
Do you hate me because I have the unique ability to question my surroundings objectively without superstition to cloud my judgement? Do you hate me because my brain thinks in different patterns than yours? Do you hate me because my