Decays

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can you trap my laughterin a crystal jar of dreamsand sprinkle a little of itwhen I'm ripped at seams?

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can you trap my laughter
in a crystal jar of dreams
and sprinkle a little of it
when I'm ripped at seams?

'cause the fabric of my soul
is loosely threaded these days
and this windswept material
worries me when it sways

staggerin' as a lost wayfarer
wandering by countryside
but pulled back by the call
of a metropolis worldwide

so can you collapse into me
and collect my little smiles
to give me in bits 'n' pieces
this glee through my trials?

for what do i do with a soul
split apart in opposite ways?
oh what happens to a house
that tries to bloom in decays?

Author's Note

Welcome to the world of Generation Z where every individual is cut in the middle by the dilemma of choosing between a pull of Nature and an addiction of Urban lifestyle. Living in these suburbs, we have this longing of a home filled with dried flowers set in china vases by open windows, don't we? And how strange is this that we've never been to such a house in our lives? Why this yearning then? Can we survive after building skyscrapers on the grave of our heritage? Can we flourish when the foundation is decaying? Can we outlive this death of Nature?

And even if we don't, how do we leave the glamour of NYC? The love of Paris? The grandiose London? How?

So welcome to the Generation Z, a house trying to bloom in decays. :)

How was this poem? =)

Love,
Hazel ❤

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