Iris

Long bridges traverse brilliant skies of greatness
and lay down their arch in a plethora of hues 
the green groans at times, in their aching grief the blues
bleed like a true god to which our faith must profess

Following across the stars so certain a route 
gush-forth the blessed milk, their source of palest purviews
pierced so the night might flow unveiled in its pursuit
the erratic ship of anxiety and ruse

No one can triumph in this cavalcade
oh World Theatre depict these horrible revues
all exuded wavy tints tasteless they are made 
when the violent cool of salt cannot be renewed

The ages transmit the enigma and wisdom
these long bridges draft such trajectories ensue
within nature's plan in joyfulness and nauseum
unwilling echoes' accurately mirrored views