There are withered leaves of yesterday,
pale and dead;
executed and lain bare on the green floor
by the martinet, gushy evening winds.
There are pigeons that enjoy free rides, down and up,
stepping out from its man-made pretended nest,
and landing ladylike on the outer ceiling of the elevator,
saving its shoulder's strength for other worthwhile journeys,
There are white-haired cranes that walk on the grass,
delicately, leaving the floor unhurt,
freezing and pretending to be nonexistent,
as I walk past it.
There are clouds that threaten
to drench the dehydrated earth,
waiting to close the deal
and induce new life cycles.
And there are also,
frozen tears that never saw beyond bay,
eyes that forget to remember the once thought-locked face,
rehearsed words of confessions that never saw its way,
mind-numbing thoughts of innumerous affrays,
faded memories of moments of dismay,
memoirs evoked by the disjoint rails,
persistent jubilant tunes of victory tales.
I see from a distance,
a whining kid that wants to see the chocolate store,
and select the ones that appeals to its eyes,
waiting to learn a new lesson in its life.
And here I am, amused by the kid,
cognizant of the kid's state of affairs,
yearning to see what life has in store.