How many people do you have to allow
to trample on your chest
with spiked steel toed boots
before you realize you should stop
planning your own isolation since
the warmth of the sun can be so comfortable
for as long as you don't start to sweat and
words are the melody of passing thoughts
though they are scarcely jotted down in stone
and you love watching the leaves dance in the wind
but eventually they stop playing music
but when you think that a flower blooms
to now get abused by bees, it's
lighter on the mind than realizing
that the world looks so different
with tears in your eyes