Mutterings
between whispers
among friends
Unlike the brazen
hope fills these interactions
but flees
Nothing stays
Stillness, long enough
to mark itself
as corporeal

I hear things
Decisions
Exacted morality
against tradition
lies new buds
A field of flowers
to blossom, come summer
If even it bothered
to share heat
and enlighten us creations

Such natural place
among sky, trees,
scurrying of critters
None specific or named
but said to be dangerous
to we blossoms
Standing tall on thin lines
a massive weight
We are just alive
acting peasants
still, pleasantries
I believe in nothing
I am flesh
I bleed, not green
or flowered petals
To decorate this decay
naturally
this solves nothing
and is too clear
A preference of metaphors
to my honest fears