A quiet vista. Only the winds dramatize
The serene atmosphere. Trees are caught
Baring themselves whilst changing dye
With the passing time spell. The remainder
Of the world is hushed, unchanged and
Unmoved. The thrilling pacification of
Nature is forgotten by the soaring
Machines speeding through the vigilantly
Constructed streets, one by one. All
Left here is a utopia disregarded.
Suddenly, a figure emerges.
‘Tis but a small boy who seems
To have discovered the comfort
Of the soft terrain. He races through
The field, the sun reflecting his
Beaming face. He tumbles down and
Embraces the earth’s warmth with
His body. And there he lies, hours on end.
But to every day there is a night.
A burning light fades, and leaves him blinded.
And he, the young lively boy, retreats to
His father’s home. He kisses the earth,
Nearly praising the terrain. Now,
He leaves. His mind believes him safe
Yet his heart shreds in terror. He lives
In his nightmare, his dream now over.
He shuts his eyes and prays. He cannot
Stop them from consuming him—
inside to out. Yet he patiently endures,
For light is but a few hours away.
The night is long, the night is rough.
The deathly silence is stricken by
Shrilling shrieks staking the fatally
Heavy heavens. He reclines in a lifeless
Motion, too weary to carry on, to
Save himself. His cries which were
Never heard will never be heard.
And so he spares himself his futile
Tears. It was almost over. But just that.
And he returns. To his bliss. The
Pastures which patiently await his
Arrival chuckle jubilantly at their returning
companion. And he reciprocates. His arms
Extended as he swings in circles until he
Becomes so uncontrollably faint that
He cascades down. His body there lies motionless
Yet alive. He sleeps, his heart and soul at rest.
The world to him what was so little
Is now so much. Ceaseless and perpetual.