Why?

It’s not a surprise anymore
hearing yourself when other people are talking
the aggression of helplessness and isolation
dominion tearing other dominion.

Stories are written to decipher
hieroglyphics, celebrate street scenes
like butterflies leaving a lavender field
scattering messages, endless flying.

The mountains are crumbling to the seas,
“the streets are crying in the rain”
we look at them until our eyes hurt
a tired world burdened by so much knowing.

IMG_0890

note: I found this dry leaves at the end of a green branch during my walk to the river.

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