Sitting pretty; a perfect creation.
Looking up and out of the window,
Travelling at Super-Speed, you turn,
Studying the view as city merges to stone,
Fields blend with Wasteland, surrounding
Your beating heart, you remain still, for
You cannot change this world.
Trapped air fills your lungs heavily,
As if falling through the sky in peace-
Is normal. You are not allowed to fight,
Or whine, or repeat words that sound,
Like honest screams found deep from your soul.
Pulling on the strings of your voice’s harp,
Only beautiful melodies were heard.
Because “nothing is wrong with Planet Earth”.