The sky gazes upon me,
It is blue, yet the pale moon remains, observing.
Cicadas rumble and the rooster laughs,
A fire still burns the woods, slowly turning them to ash.
It's all beautiful, calming, yet harboring resentment.
Within my mind, only gray and rain prevail.
Green turns to black, and white to muddy.
A pigeon stares at me, its eyes haunting.
What kind of madman have I become?
Dirt stains my soul.
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