Pristine Lake

The view of blue does quite protrude.

My vision shakes at pristine lake.

My eyes, maybe blind, do sense.

That what I see does steer from me.
---
Wading and shaping the way that I'm gazing.

To see is to believe but is green with grief.

As it's far, no car could reach that star.

As its clean serene scene looks back at me.
---
Deadpan face, the same place, giving chase.

But it's my own, my ears, my nose, my clone.

Far from near, not here, unclear.

Falling to the sky, my my, where am I?

Did I land, can I stand, am I stranded?

Am I lost, was I found, still abandoned?
---
Far from shore, perhaps the core, there's so much more.

Swim deeper, body sleeker, water shimmer.

There to look, a candid crook, within that nook.

Watching close for one more dose of comatose.

Lost in waves, a darker cave, to whom I gave,

The view of blue that quite protrudes,

That shakes and makes my pristine lake.

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