Eyes of the night

Flip-side life. Head turned feet turned head turned cancer. And the rain falls, and the sun doesn't care for all the world. And the lightning strikes, and the thunder couldn't worry less. It would kiss it better, but it's not that bad. It would struggle and win, if failing was really an option. And the swarms of bees spin round like words. Epic poems of tangled words. But the flowers aren't concerned by bees, only by the snails of actions that nibble at their roots. Kill them from the ground up.

And the sulphur burn signifies the free souls encased. The spirits. The eyes of the night. For the night brings the peaceful awakening of the new dawn. The better dawn. Where the rain and the sun, the thunder and the lightning, the bees and the flowers and the snails are all with hope. But the rain prevails, the lightning strikes again. The bees do little to scrape the surface, but the snails attack.

And the girl in the gingham dress picks the most beautiful flowers she can find. And she brushes off the bees with their barbs ready, but she can't save the flowers from the snails. The sun emerges from its clouded rest, shining its best through the rain. Everyone knows that sun and rain makes rainbows. And that thunder and lightning make for a snug hiding place under the bed.