Flowers don't bloom anymore,
the sea water won't come back to the shore.
Trees find it hard to sway its leaves,
the eye of the beholder gently decieves.
A waste of time is also a waste of space,
a space for anything; on each coming days.
Lazy contradicting peice of art,
scattered everywhere on each tamed hearts.
If love is meant to be,
it will always feel free.
But if love is a push button,
options will be always to be reckoned.
