The streets stands empty where the daffodils had danced their petals last night. And on the morn, the giants brawl by to blow away the remains of the withered petals.
Little do they know that it is their intended cruelty that keeps the seeds alive. Afloat through the air while the wind’s currents gust them on like rowboats on sunset rivers of orange and soil. The hasty earth whose taste livens their roots for the tomorrow that may never come.
For armageddon seems to be around the corner huffed by ridicule and tarantulas.  
- What goes on in the minds of one tracing random memories into the mysteries of the future?
Gullible leaves look by innocent rays that bring to dark the guillotine drones.
Flash.
The river banks burst water tumbling like buildings on the aftershave.
Silver.
Glints of scarring grazes bruised on hearts of steel that were never towed.