The silvery moon shines overhead
while I lie in my hammock,
the sticky heat of the day just now abating.
The frogs sing from the quicksilver pond
while a spring gurgles in harmony.
My eyes droop.
Fireflies blink in and out of existence,
silent conductors of their own symphonies.
The stars are coming out.
Crickets hum quietly and cicadas add their tune,
forever blending into the night.
My head feels heavy.
The magnolia leaves rustle
as a soft breeze stirs,
a heralding of dusk.
My eyes close.
The hammock sways in time
to the music of the southern night.
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Amidst the eternal waves of time. From a ripple shall the storm rise. Out of the abyss peer the eyes of a demon. Behold the Razgriz, its raven wings of black sheath. The Demon soars through the skies. Fear and death trail its shadow beneath. Until men uni
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92% of teens would die if Abercrombie and Fitch said it wasn't cool to breathe. Put this in your sig if you'd be one of the 8% laughing their butts off.
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