Those who feel motion sickness have lived lives of stability…

Does the

 butterfly recollect 

what the caterpillar has lived? As she 

dissolves inside the chrysalis does she 

struggle to cling to a taste of green, the sun’s 

caress? Or is her miracle reckless abandon?

The land is barren, silent, still

A whisper for what it had been

Just silent winds, forgotten, weak

Replace the voice who used to speak

The sky is crimson with our sins

A world where only hate begins

We point, we blame, we turn away

As if we didn’t shape decay