The scream

a dying of the soul

a loss of the way things became what they are,

We lose our soul at the cost of our bodies,

And for that we regret,

The speaking of power, of prominence, of the system and yet we ask why,

We wonder at the incredulity of it all,

laugh in the face of injustice, support injustice, see to injustice and just like us,

lhey forget we are not, just nor are they and yet we live in this sphere, you and you alone know.

You, do you believe, believe we are real or are we just a dream

a dream long since concluded, a dream unchanged by the dream doomed to perpetude,

to cycles,

to hope forgotten, renewed, forgotten, subdued.

The flora regrets and the willow sees as we all step beneath an apple tree

pick the fruit never wondering if it hurt the tree,

believe with me, believe with me that things should be.