An Ode to My Epiphany.

And since we’ll soon be on our ways

Dream of breeze that touch your face

Be brave to get drenched in the rain

Count the efforts, even ones in vain

I’ll try being the man you’d admire

Maybe at the end I’d sigh with despair

In some days I'd look into my mind, 

Fish for keepsakes, some memorial kind. 

You’ll fly high by then, in the clouds

As a skylark through the misty shrouds

Or on some mountain, an ancient tree

Who sees the world with its own gravity

I’ll slowly, maybe unknowingly, take my seat

Under the shadow cover which boast of feat

I’ll sink deep in sleep, forget where and when

In hope I never see the world again,

And I hope I never see the world again.

~Prat.

Ancient trees, come hither.