A child asked, what is the grass?
It is a jungle for the small creatures that inhabit it
A shady reservoir called home
So tall and strong to some
But to us it is insignificant,
Tiny, soft, cool feathers on summer feet
Substance, home, allergies, weeds, jungle
It’s all about your angle
A point of view, always askew,
That’s why there is
war and loss
What is missing? They can all be right
How can summer feet inhabit cool feathers as
small creatures inhabit a forest?
How can one man starve while
Another cannot finish his plate
It’s an oddity, a mystery
How different two different lives can be,
Yet they are still lives
All worth the same yet so differently seen
From the sky to the grass we all live in this scene
Main characters in our own plot
Selfishness cannibalizing the souls
Of humanity, we all end in a plot
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