It's like, waiting for that "Thank You,"
That sign of gratitude.
Appreciation reckons with the sign of authority.

Being stranded,
Alone in the woods,
No one to hear your calling,
Not a chant echoed in the distance.

It's like, wanting to be seen in the shadow of the night.
Standing there,
Just gazing at the structure of the moonlight.
All along, you are hidden among the nation,
Leaving but a trace in their sight.

It's like, the wilting of a flower,
The drooping nature of it all.
A dying force,
Halting the bloom of a resurrection.

There is no spring to offset the cold.
You are forbidden,
Let truth be told.