Stagnancy in a Moving City

Maple green, maple green
that’s all I see
leaves submerged in deep spring
it’s all the same, come morning.
Translucent skies and deep blues
alone I sit,
rough timber pews
it’s all the same, come morning.
Cemented slivers of grey,
Step by step
lost; there is no trace.
I should have changed, come morning.
There is no end,
Only deep caves
steep hills leading down below
A road to nowhere
Just a road
In all the sameness
In all the madness
Who could have foretold
Beneath the gravel and the ashes
A decadent flower would grow.

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