Game Poem by Charcoal Bullet

a flesh of clouds is medicine for
prophetic dreams
killed by a wind of wished desires
as the chain of silence - swiped in a tomorrow
a child will conceal his face out of sun
this morning -
the world will be lost somewhere in his eyes
putting our despair on repeat
god does not cheat
lighting us a way on a bottom
where the birds of his heart dissect a water smooth surface
at our souls - a primitive autumn faded
a game made off in behalf on one who waits
a rain will judge me and my unexpected smile