I am envious of dawn and it’s raw power,
independence we all crave.
For I wish to be arrogant rays of secrecy:
Though it creates no art,
composes no literature,
It has true purpose.
a material objective,
in it’s endless living,
It awakes us ignorant animals.
Though we claim to despise the sight of sun.
dread morning.
In perspective of an extremist,
We creatures are so polluted that our natural habits have seceded,
And now we haughtily close our factory-made curtains,
Deep slumber until our processed devices,
buzz in our ears,
Yell in our throats,
Choke us until we are forced against our every will to remove ourselves from our bedding.
With our artificial flowers.
Where’d the true plants go? Where are the real flowers?
And why, I plead, is dawn being ignored?
“chop of liver”
“rotten egg”
It’s so much more.