The Meadowland

Rings of reflection bob

Above crushed grass

And dirty sidewalk.

 

Sticky fingerprints of youth

Splattered like artwork

Across grey mountains.

 

And imprinted onto the ground

is the weight of a thousand souls

Bloated with joy.

 

Distortion remains deep below,

Under the blank slates

Of rolling hills.

A collection of the passed

of the stars that have fallen

of the wished upon dandelions

that have finally settled

and of the desolated minds

seeking comfort in the darkness.

 

They lie there

in stillness

forgotten,

beneath the meadowland.

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