Guess Contempt to Earth [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.449]

"

     A trumpet in the rock of death and brood,
      Such as the fiery face of mist,
         And now is some expected sleep,
         And the hand which seems to be
         Of the sea and branches.

             Ever standing in the sky,
         The depths of shades and grass and clouds
         Of rain and colored bloom,
         The stars the shades of the crowd, the dead

Arab senseless.
  And the shadow of a white window.
 But a touch of being never another morning

painted many worlds and spiders on the bed

--Guess Contempt to Earth