Modern World

The one who rests upon her seat,
Plays without aim and seeks defeat.

Head in the clouds reflective and sincere,
Wasted time and unproductive years.

Turning black and and cracked and gone,
But that soul never stops searching for the sun.

Bright and white and dripping into blue,
The sky that sweats precipitation, and hue.

But in the field of flowers, rest assured
One will speak
One will seek
The soul will be found.

Rescued from a maze, consumed.
Escorted the way out, the end of the halt.

The beginning of life...
Breathe now, darling.

Reality is her enemy
Create dreams and colours
Instead.