Written for Twelve Shots of Summer 2020: Seventh Soul - Week 2...
A whisper of winds,
An ocean far away,
Mountains filled with pine-scented air,
Plains bursting of flowers and dares,
Laughter once full is now gone,
It's like a tear that was never there,
Anywhere around is emptying swift,
You're pretty much on a deserted island,
Why has this happened? You ask,
An expected answer is not fair,
Should you walk around to figure this out?
Or will you be a stick in the mud?
Do you have a reason to go home?
Have you thought to use your own phone?
A chill comes around,
Even when Winter isn't found,
Towns are littered with voices,
Cities are loud with crowds,
Sidewalks never sparkle,
Roads are covered with wheels,
There is always enough to go around,
Even if money isn't in a mound,
Will you decide where to go?
Or will any be closed?
Do you have a hobby?
A chore that has to be done?
If you're here, where's the hurry?
You're not even early,
You had to have left for a reason,
What can you say that's not treason?
On the Earth, you're just one person,
If that's rare, then where's the spare?
- End -
EeveeGen9988: Thought I'd do something different this time and switch it up. =3
If you read to the end of this poem, I went with [Spare] for this week's prompt. I don't have much to say about my poems except that I hope each person derives their own meaning from them. =D