Tried mine swings,
to harmoniously sing,
of sweeter things,
hopping
&
sailing up above carcasses by widespread wings;

though
-
mine head only dreams,
reaching so a peak, over wrenching scenes;

it's nothing like what mine heart carries,
chest slammed by unsympathetic fairies,
running...
tripping...
tipping,
all over bloody parts in an expired cemetery,
where time may encapsulate & dilute to mere slothy visionary.