withering in fields of silver

.

.

.

though the seeds
among the silvery fields
gently caressed my palms
i could not for a second
find them beautiful

they symbolized everything
that kept me enslaved
my mind locked with the thought
a swirling sound of green
made me dance
with the dying cornflowers

i was never a believer
like you

.

.

.

a/n: i killed off all the angels taking notice of me.