Orochimaru took me by the hand
And his hand in my hand was white.
Our lightly-clad feet stepped softly
On whispering grass under the violet
Sky. He said, "Kimimaro, child,
What do you see with those green eyes?"
I told him I saw nothing with my eyes
But his hand in my small hand.
For I was a frightened young child,
Remembering my family's streaming white
Hair, as they fought under clouds of violet.
"I don't want to be alone," I told him softly.
He stroked my cheek softly,
Watching with speckled golden eyes
Our feet on the trodden violets.
Then he pulled me along again by the hand,
And his hand in my hand was white.
I felt I was a lucky child.
He ran forward with the eagerness of a child,
Then motioned me to step softly,
At the edge of the forest where we saw the white
Owl, watching us with its golden eyes.
Orochimaru loosened his grip on my hand,
The evening light tinted him violet.
We watched as the owl swooped into the violet
Shadows, and caught a struggling mole-child.
Its talons gripped like Orochimaru's hand,
Lingering on my neck and touching me softly.
As the mole died, I kept my eyes on its bulging eyes.
Orochimaru kissed me, and his teeth near my teeth
were white.
The twilight faded and the watery moon was white.
I dreamed our falling bodies crushed the violets,
And the yawning, stretching stars watched like eyes,
As Orochimaru's heavy body became silence that could crush a child.
The tall grasses swayed softly,
Showing the touch of invisible hands.
Muffled like white snow the thoughts of a child,
There is a drop of violet lines as Orochimaru softly
Closes his eyes, and with his hand,
mine.