Swaying flowers blossoming in view,
They grow and emerge with promises anew,
And endless field of solemn praises,
Of faithful statements and loving embraces.
How can a man see the truth,
Wherein this field his eyes beheld no proof?
An injustice some may sleuth,
Or possibly is it the premise of his destitute?
Blossoming time and again reveals the pain,
Much the same as farmers who abuse their lane,
The ground rots, devalues, and loses all use,
Much the same as people who say "don't worry you'll get through".
Ineptitude and fear have since clouded my eyes,
Injustice and terror are what now fill my mind,
For the meaning buried underfoot of the land,
It is my promise, my hope, my plan to take your hand.
Loving embraces and faithful statements no longer abound,
The endless field of solemn praises no longer sound,
They wither and die as your promises did to me,
No longer within my grasp and no longer within my reach,
I can no longer perceive,
Swaying flowers blossoming in view.