Scythes in the field at harvest

sweet with rain fallen down down down

washing away the nightmares

Fountains long dry now overflowing

the wine like holy water

bitter as blood shed in secret

So begins the bacchanal, the neverending

sighs and whispers lifted

on sweet-scented clouds of smoke and ash

high enough to peer over the wall

glimpse desolation

and float gently back again

to bathe in the waters of the fountain

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Been staying up way later than usual lately. My sleep schedule is pretty much shot. May need to pull an all nighter at some point to try and reset.

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Photo by Sebastiaan Stam from Pexels