A must for hunters

They believe in childhood
And they boast of innocence
And bring home hatred in half conscience
And draw parallels in red wild orchids

But now they embrace a random wind
Which is heading north of a broken pearl
Which seldom dreams and dives past prime

Can we prey in private talks?
Can we do a deep work of courage?
Can we exist in other half of others ?

They are now memories
They have now been watered down
They are so kind stars to the streets

A round of steps to a hidden home
A rack of bones to a broken self
A rare earth smile to a wretched heart
All that we know is a stealth of hope