a collection of untitled poetry #1

humanity runs against a rushing clock

who ticks to the beat of chaos, the rhythm of burden

all becomes chained to its eternally moving hands

yet, here upon a lonesome hill i feel its grasp loosen

my hands sticky with sweet strawberry juice

and my basket full of ripened peaches

the world muffled in an aura of feigned peace

birds chirp of joy and animals scurry beneath me, ignorant and warm

the sun paints the sky in changing hues, its chariot guided by the moon

and for a fleeting moment: time stops, captured within my serenity