Whirling around are the spirals of color,
untamed wheel
put into stop
How it dreams about flying
instead of imitating stories faded away long time ago,
cradled into the dawn of consumerism.
Feathers are now weary
but still vivid
and at nighttime
when no one looks
they spread
and no more words of polished manner
are repeated for a hundredth time…
Just silence
which adorns
a world that was never dreamt before.