poor dreamers in a world
where dreams are sold,
we are autumn's acid tears and
we are one and we are none.
i, am you - you are not me and
our reflections don't match. i am not
here but your face still shows.
breezes stand still. i, the
child of nature, listen to what
nobody has to say - the silence
in between the same word, altered
to tell something else as hollow.
i, the child of nature, blanket my
self in industrialized dreams and tuck
my feelings inside pipes to clog my
i want to be you, you