AN: I write this back in October, I based it off of a prompt from Inktober.
A green pasture.
Sweet mint wafts through the air.
Entangling ropes of greenery suffocate the scattered entities in such a retreat;
Cuts and bruises forming on the fruit of the land.
The sun hides away from the meadow,
Wishing to isolate itself from its despair.
Death stains the pasture;
A home to old unused objects, no longer loved by their owner;
A place for the rotten fruit to be discarded.
Either by self-hatred, or societal separation they cry out for help;
Their tears keeping their land green.
Isolation, the chain locking everything in place.
Objects being arranged in patterns;
Crowded together, but too far away to console one another.
The broken pieces of the entities overwhelm outsiders with a sense of beauty;
Haunting smiles plastered on their faces as they watch from afar.
But the reality lies within the actual grounds,
The nature of its purpose being solemnly for the forgotten,
Where they can become an overgrown mess.
YOU ARE READING
Random Written Works
RandomJust a place where I can post blogs and other things I write. A collection of old works along with new works, and just things on my mind.
