The constant hustle
and bustle
drives her insane.
Her life is filled with it:
the sounds of the city;
the night life,
in particular.
She often feels her heart swelling,
about to burst;
Her mind racing,
and she can’t concentrate.
She longs for freedom
from this asphalt asylum.
The towering steal giants
hold her in from what’s real.
This fake alter ego of life is nothing
more than an illusion blazing under an unforgiving sun.
And the people?
Why, they’re nothing more than mannequins
forced into life during a never-ending night.
Dressed politely in their suits and ties,
they’re such an impressive sight.
Too bad that beneath it all
their souls aren’t in the right.
This girl wishes to be free of the arrogance
of these concrete loving cretins.
She’s a different definition of beauty
from those monologue figures featured in this metropolitan nightmare.
Her hair—
auburn and silky;
unfurling in the cold, inner city wind.
Her lips are as red as the soft young petals
of a spider lily in the early spring
that unwind themselves from the tender green stalk,
just after the last frost,
to find ultimate splendor and beauty in life.
And her eyes?
They’re of an emerald green
that emit such depth
that one, if searching hard enough, could possibly find their own soul within them.
Unguarded in her youth, these eyes speak of a passion
that is branded rock hard against her soul—
A passion for freedom;
the freedom of reality.
She wants to venture once more into the now forgotten forests,
to taste the sweet air once again.
Her heart begins to race at the mere thought of it all:
the fungus green moss sprawling gently against the deep brown wood of the massive and ancient oak trees;
the intricate green vine climbing around the mossy old tree,
and delicate purple flowers springing out from the vine at random
making their way to the top of the bulky old oak
to mingle amongst the coppered and golden leaves in the benevolent autumn sun.
