Dearest friend,
hope you are doing well
i got that message u had penned
but no paper here at the war-shell
so no reply i could send
anyways
hows your mom
hows your dad
what became of the family lamb
are they fed , are they well
please let me know, before the weekend
hope ur not still mad
about me leaving and all that
you know i had to
of all the things i must do
the city burns soon our fescue too
i miss our home, i miss our dock
i miss all the words we shared without locks
i miss those days when we were not quite old but not quite young
all the time we spent at the bay all the songs of hope we had sung
even the times we cycled into dung
from the treasures we hid in farmer jacob’s corn fields
to the nights spend dreaming about the entropic decaying galaxies
far from where our little eyes could see
our feet were planted like spring seeds but our hearts were free to roam without a leash
have the lilies in your backyard bloomed
You know the ones we stole from madam monsiue
or has the winter frost got them consumed
nonetheless i hope she doesn’t sue
the wind is rising i must go
the captain is shouting
i cant leave him alone
when the great dragon is slain
and nothing else remains
you and i will meet once again
we will cut the chains
and roam the plains
until the end of the elysian rains.