My eyes are seared by suns

chapped lips taste the sand

The pounding of Thor’s hammer

on the fragile glass dome.

Crowds roar with but a whisper

color seems so ugly in this time

All glitters, gleams, glints, and glimmers

Seas crash upon my temples

all within this fragile glass dome.

I am no hermit, or recluse, or ascetic bore

I assure I am not upset with this frown

But everything seems so intense now

in this fragile glass dome.

Darkness grants some peace,

perhaps the god is afraid of it

the silence gifts void

The emptiness demands no pain

I am forced to hide in solitude

in this little, fragile, glass dome.