She is a landscape
Her eyes, filled with lakes
Her body is the rolling hills
Her hair, the grass and leaves
Her voice is the brush of wind
Her eyes, the dirt of flowerbeds
She is a landscape
But all she sees is destruction
She sees the pollution in the lakes
The bumps in the hills
The dying leaves of fall
The plainness of dirt
The sadness in the birds call
We look upon her
And see the beautiful landscape
But alas, her eyes are the dirt
And cannot see
What beauty is built around it.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
She is a landscape
Her eyes, filled with lakes
Her body is the rolling hills
Her hair, the grass and leaves
Her voice is the brush of wind
Her eyes, the dirt of flowerbeds
She is a landscape
But all she sees is destruction
She sees the pollution in the lakes
The bumps in the hills
The dying leaves of fall
The plainness of dirt
The sadness in the birds call
We look upon her
And see the beautiful landscape
But alas, her eyes are the dirt
And cannot see
What beauty is built around it.
