Never ask the sun to rise on time,

for drizzles at summer nights

followed by a sky of brilliant stars.

A tiny blade of grass, pale and voiceless,

waiting on the edge to be caressed,

or trampled, as Nature sees fit,

belittled by storms carelessly violent.

Ask what you’ve given, not

how you’re governed, as you wait

for bits of attention, drops of rain.

Follow thy leader, know he’s weak

to hear his weakness loud and clear,

a blind man blaming the darkness

surrounding his heart, wiping the slate

clean of hurtful words and deeds.

Follow thy leash, be pushed and pulled

as Nature sees fit. A leaf shall fall,

wither and die, from an autumn branch

willingly let go of frustration and rage.



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