another sigh

the sky is made of broken glass
the dirt composed of dried blood
the souls have all deserted this place
and all thats left is well-managed sludge.
--
the flowers bloom in the untilled dirt
the rainbows stretch across smog-filled skies
there are no seasons left
a mediated temperament replaces the weather
and the risks and dangers are removed
everything runs smoothly in its place
--
the heartbeat is gone
too unpredictable to keep
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your poems are like little hidden jewels. i have enjoyed finding them. i'm glad you are posting here.

amber
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thx ;b