Wandering lost depths in a field of bruised yellows and blacks,
Chasing bees instead of running from them,
In an upside down topsy turvy world.
We are the weak under a thumb,
Scraping the dirt behind the nail.
Can’t remember feeling lost when I was found.
In the seas of being perky wall flowers,
Spent a whole life driven by words on the wall.
Seeping through the cracks,
Pushing me beneath the ground.
Soiling me up until I can no longer breathe.
Through hands, smothering soft whispers,
And ghosts haunting from a traumatic past.
Whirling through an endless timeline,
With broken giving trees and bland Dr. Seuss’
Choking on smog created by Big Brother.
From an orphanage of a mother,
Who lost her baby in a leap year.
Challenging the views of traveling birds,
And sneaky rabbits who play on playing tricks.
Over and under.
Under and over,
Comes the hook of a skeleton man.
Who grabs the only known thing,
This world has come to learn.
The love that bears in the nipples of Mother Nature’s flesh,
The whispers that exist between the storms and the grasses,
The hands grasped by a mother to a daughter.
He who needs to let go, forgive and accept.
She who needs to be told, grab her hand and pull.
This world craves the warmth from our hearts,
The warmth that has soon masked in the melting of our planet.
