Oh now.
How the parallels have split and bent to become part of the vastness of what is.
It was a simmer in the heat of the sunlight before the calm of a gentle shower.
That flowers would bloom above the anarchy of all the fallen dew drops beneath the rain.

And when wonder became exact,
to being progress in an assembly line heading towards automation.

The shouts of rebel crowds would bleed in to a sea of heartbroken miseries as wide as the fallen wood.
For here was a simple pleasure.
That could bask in the blink of your eyes alone.
That would shatter at a cold touch from such warm hands.