Tourists,
Tried by tinge of Terror,
Marvel at the Titan.
Nervous, tepid,
Shy of might
For their shells of chitin.
Those shivering shrooms
Can't see la sonrisa
Or their waving arm.
They only see the plume
Trail up,
Ready
His lying lady
Dreams of terrors dark and grim.
She forgets the waking world,
Cursed by jealous sin.
Though her lover waits,
Patient as the sun,
Preserving the day's
Fleeting light with frenetic flight and fight,
She dreams dreams of
Amor de Verdad.
But by her side,
He will never let her rest.
They are as far
From heaven
As the East is
From the West.
The moon will set
And rise again
Even in the day.
But the sun
Hangs still,
Consuming flesh
To light the winters' way.
Foreign fungi hear no stories,
But fear the daily smoke,
They jump and hide instead.
Los esperan para Stillness;
It awaits them in their beds.
And yet their fungi faces shatter
When they stay long enough to need
And are blessed enough to feel
The local daily bleed.