The buildings that we call poems.

Where are we?
On this planet,
in this town.
Without a hope for peace.

This is a sad day,
one of regrets and chaos,
one that means absolutely nothing in the end.

Flowers will cry.
Stars will create life
within their explosions.
We will fall down.

Let us rise against
those who surpress us,
the ones that try to make us hungry
for false informatiion and sex.
We can be heard.

I will be just as quiet
as those stars,
those flowers,
those falls.