Strange horizon

I have walked upon the golden roads

leading valleys and hills to dead ends

visions over fallen seas

where cuts have still to mend,

my bloodied feet a wretched set

moving with the breeze

settling onto mountain tops

as big as the smallest peas,

now slumped upon the highest low

the tempest I for to wait

counting out old new bloomed petals

as the day grows ever late.

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