the bird
does not deceit itself
the plant
does not glorify the fruit
the pain
does not think of the nerve
the fate of the grass
is not significant for the deer
the south
does not know of its north
the fear
is not a distance between the night and the tree
crimson
is not crimson for its self
the mountain
does not understand the peak’s altitude
the world
feeds off the Instincts breast
it doesn’t have a name