My son paints it as a crystal ball,
lakeshore breezes dancing in rustle;
slim graceful buildings shooting up,
as his birthday candles were lighting.

He draws a crescent among the twinkle,
whispers to the soft gliding wing;
His canvas was primed with an angel,
her sheer pattern as shining.

I cradle starlets and kind fairy,
In his sweet dreamland,
Cuddle him away the cloudy outside,
Fear it too close to his vision.

But it, a broken city is,
like crystal shattered to piece.
Pale sky as a encaged shell,
bloody scenes railed with yellow ribbons.

I disguise the crystal without seams,
Coat it in crimson.
The color soon will peel with truth,
I wonder how long it could be hidden.