The Indigo Fawn

Puzzled by the In-Between,

A quenched dot of cobalt, 

In which she wakes wind…

As she generates an aura of melancholy, 

A doe has made its home within a gem,

There is a risqué glow of the fawn,

The sense of agitation within the fawn.

Where she dreams of other truths freely,

With her heart container of saturation,

Where tranquility truly lives along the three ceramic rivers,

Amongst milked poppies and their nectar,

And the pitter-pattering of flying foxes’ wings,

And nightingales landing on the bruised branches of bleached trees, 

As if some storage for sickly souls manifested into shards of glass.

The cerulean necklace, stark and noisy,

Blue and vampiric like a rose, 

With eyes of indigo and denim,

A smell of jasmine and teak incense within her coat,

With her dull, blackened heart,

She made the girl who is the one today,

The spectra are one with this doe as all seems so flawed…

But alas,

What happens when the fawn stays?

Will the house just become a home?

Will the rivers keep steady and the biomes stay still?

For there must come a time when the doe must go,

Then the creatures of the realms cry out over grand deprivations,

And they become more clear,

Publicized by saturated pantomimes who wander space and mix their fake expressions, 

With real ones…

Yes, “her precious,” had sucked up all her mana so the thoughts would linger,

So the dull mask didn’t seem so obviously colorful. 

None shall ever know or speak,

For fortune simply does not show up at our door,

And the coils of space-time get tied into knots in timber as the fawn,

Feels this new unexpected loss of love.

In this ominous omniverse of endless possibilities,

I hope there is a world where mortality is mocked yet unburdened,

So the lonely, indigo cervine learns of some miraculous planet,

Where a gold-leafed stag yearns for her siren song.

© Niklen 10/5/26