They walk in the valley of concrete,
Longing for days…
Days of soft greens and piercing blues.
Gazing at towers of glass,
and hearts grown cold.
Bodies ache for things of the past.
Minds glowing with future plans.
And for what…
Progress you say?
Progress, disassembling purity,
In an angular world.
Is progress green skies and hay-colored grass?
Is progress understanding everything?
For the sake of nothing.
Walking,
cracked paved roads,
now lined by empty concrete husks,
cluttered with a trillion empty dream.
Once was this a field?
The foliage has died,
beneath the rejectamenta of humanity.
They walk through,
the valley of concrete,
where they see,
the shadows of the past…
A crystal blue sky,
jade grass,
shimmering drinkable waters.
They wonder,
once they are,
shadowed by concrete…
Will it even matter?
Moving on…
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