Creeping still; a centimeter in depth,
A pink, a yellow, an orange.
Flowing out of a crack from the earth,
Out of hell, and into the heavens.
Creeping still; an inch in depth,
A blue, and purple, a black.
Smalling the glass tinted moon,
And enlarging the empty vastness of the sky.
The mass, so hot,
And yet, the snow, oh so cold!
Creeping still; a foot in depth,
A pink, a saphire, a flaming flame.
Sighing and signing the breath away,
Swallowing the day for the moon to take its part.
Creeping still; a day from night,
A color, no name could be given.
Dropping the cold into bitter snow,
Feeling its glorious freedom in the sky.
Creeping down; crying the snow,
There are no colors anymore.
It goes back down to dark, burdened hell,
The moon will take its place.
Creeping now; the moon as its orb.
It will rest there now, in the heavens.