Fear keeping them from communicating
As exhaust fumes polluting the air between.
A perpetuating system like the withering
Of a flower. The masses are gathering.
Words lost in all the frequencies unseen.
Does anyone see bleeding hearts desiccating?
Yeah, I’m listening and seeing the truth.
My hands sift through their tears like sand
And I fall to a humbler state.
“Why? Why do we all turn
On others when life gets tough?
They need some love when it’s rough.
Can we change? Or do we burn?”
I’m unready for that cremation.
The sand cannot just be ashes
Of dreams and lives now lost.
Nothing is wrong about dreaming, living, being you;
It isn’t right to dramatize struggles when others bleed.
We have to be better. I’ll be there and I’ll offer my hand
When someone hurts because life can be so cruel.
Vasha'Lakar 