EPEOLATRY

Progressive Rock

'Tree Unevenity'

by Yash Sinojia

Hitherto an ocean, Suburbia there was

Lad just, normalized into bell-shaped toy

Distant scenery of towering trees, lay by

Some kind of dream, some kinda wonderwall

Said Goodbye that boy, to them theatre

Withering under blanket, here and there

Moon pitch so black, sky haze milky white

On satellite, they say, a kid flies quirky kite

Land evergreen, standing upon wide planes

Nostalgia factory walked beyond tall lanes

Ain’t this evenity, a thing with the Earth?

Like a murky pearl, behind a foggy curtain

Carried aesthetic sense, but so uncertain

Literally a diamond, an Onyx dark figuratively

Blasted beyond time, on some anti-gravity

Said Hello that boy, to this waging height

He felt some vertigo, and a raging fright

Sharp as Occam’s razor, clouds flew by

Sliced that pearl into two likely halves

Underneath stood exposed, a voluptuous tree

Revealed a part, a tender breast, such free

Ain’t this evenity, a thing with the Earth?

Them smooth contours like a girl’s back

Raised inferior complex, he felt so slack

Reminded him, a desperate love, a loss

Her juicy lips, dressed with a gloss

Sailed away that boy, to misty memories

How he tasted her, like some delicacies

She Mandy Lane, infatuated, every pain

Went saturated, completely, very insane

In that artwork, he made, a silly mistake

It made him dizzy, he feels that soft hate

Ain’t this evenity, a thing with the Earth?

Come with me babe, let us dive

Make out besides creeps, let us hide

And swim asunder, in this smoggy sky

Like a baby, unfold, never ever sly

Them rocks are dead

Waking life, lay ahead

Drowned some million miles, cried that boy

With a sobbing heart, those leaves fall by

She punctured my soul, killed me almost thrice

Love and Hatred, a very red diminished line

Can’t do this to me, thumping a little bee

Away from this caricature, far I want to flee

Thus uttered a painter of the counterparty

Way above, things just got sounder, farty!

Yes, entropy fucks one and all, in ways so arty

Postscript, written in cursive to an inept society