Empty thoughts escape my eyes,
Wordless complaints vapor through my lips.
That's what the stringent policies have reduced me to.
The grass has nothing to say back to me anymore.
In days of old it would cut the wind and split the molecules into torrents of blessings to us.
Today its blades reflect hostile rays into my eyes.
Then I cogitate...where is the chlorophyll?
Flags rise against states,grass against dust.
The worker bee lands upon it and shakes off the dust coated pollen brains.
I sneeze as if allergic to the two antagonists of peace that we once had.
The brass grass and bronze dust.
Under the stinging bee conspire to extirpate and scatter the tropical trees to alien soil.
There too dusty-grass prevails.