Dimensions all, crumbling, and shattering around my feet,
As the misdirection of a shadow's push against a vase, in a room, pitched as the abyss, stroked midnight,
Even splinters command an audience of inattentive ears, and the clenching of sensitive teeth.
Deserted as each grain of sand, flung constantly by battering waves, no longer congregants admidst their immediate siblings.
Quarrels held between the third and fifth,
Where ideals try to theorize the truth,
I, was born as I was, a seed to this reality,
You, as none other,
Were always a mustard tree,
Strength was ever-present within your roots.
I had vision when I opened first my eyes,
But, you, as made as you are,
A being, born exclusively of light.
I am the third of this reality,
Birthed from nothing but both of sin and pain,
I feign my own understanding,
I need a cup of your fifth dimensional rain.

© Lunaris