I find my generation incredibly blind.
Eyes fixed on small glowing glass,
forgetting about the endless beauty
of the world before us.

It is a generation of poison.

So I ask to be left with my flowers,
to stroll through botanical gardens.
Leave me with the song of a bird
and the conversations I hold
with the moon.
Leave me to sit beneath a willow tree
for hours, observing the world go by.

Let me write love letters for people
that I will never send,
and for places that touched my heart.

Let me long for a time that existed
before I did. For a time where
everything was real and alive.

A time when the world was
not ignored,
but witnessed.