artificial nature
I sit under the sable mangrove of the night, surrounded by
spider lilies and sweet everlastings. The stars in the onyx sky
grow dim by the second as their bright potential fades before
they have the opportunity to observe another day. Pale
meadow beauties never live up to their name in the arctic
chill of the wind blowing in the night, withering one petal
at a time. The sign that the land of hope has turned into a
land of catastrophe, full of pavement-laced fantasies and
high-rise visions. The concrete dream is fully realized as the slabs
of gray stone rise up from the ground as tombstones,
smashing into the luminous beauty of wooded
forests, streaming rivers and lush botany with no means of
compromise. The artificial nature has taken over as the spider
lilies and sweet everlastings may never have another day
to bloom.
