Friday, March 1, 2013

Grayscale

Stagnant.
She breathes in thick city air.
It fogs her mind and breeds
Complacency.
Each week a replay, repeat
of the last, nothing to tear
gray ruitine and plant seeds
of light or hope or
Something that is else.
Other-than.
No one to call and say
Come Away,
Breathe the Light.
See the the yellow flowers and
the green grass and know about
Beyond.

And so the busy-ness of her motion
stills the pool of her heart,
her mind.
Stagnant.

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