Soap Bubble History Books

The river faded away,

And behind it was the babble of

Lost emotions whispered like

Murmurs cloaked in loud music-ed dance halls.

Behind our eyes are the

Conversations of histories,

Are the gasps of wounded men.

What used to be brooks are now grassy fields,

Glass shattered between the stalks

Though it may be.

I know that the manic smiles

Are more like soap bubbles being

Stirred up and eradicated

Simultaneously;

That the insults come like

Flattery against your blue irises,

And the toss of your head is becoming more fit for a stage

Than red rose petals brushing the

Polish black shoes of Broadway.

We are becoming a dry, sad people-

A people of many wonders left for the comforts

Of false positivity and shard filled meadows,

Gathering angry dust.

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