The docile stare of the dormant moon entraps me
Flooding my eyes with a farfetched idea of beauty
What is beautiful about the nature that died when man existed?
The irrelevance of the stars laced with preservatives
Smiles crookedly at the altered ego of change
How can you fix what has always been ideal?
We bathe in the pools of the reflections of us
And we see a pre-packaged dystopia in our boxes of life
But we eat what we have created
We stuff destruction down our throats
YOU ARE READING
Pages of Yesterday
PoetryJust a collected works of poetry, in no specific order, about anything and everything. Many will allude to Whitman since I am currently studying him in my creative writing class.
