And what is
there
worth living
For in the end?
For we are all
silent particles
of
mass which
take up
space
and mar the
world with
our presence.
The only thing you saw
as you stared
out
the window
of the un-named
shop
was the grey tops of
buildings
and sky
combined
to one
to maintain a
dark
everything of
nothingness itself.
And you thought
without emotion
playing across your face
If the flowers
would
ever bloom
again.
You were a flower
yourself,
wilting under
the smog
of insecurity
and
the
disapproval
of others
and you were
stubbornly silent
watching
waiting
for a
moment
of
relief.
