Sometimes a park description won't cut it for a post. This is one of those times. So, if you enjoy amateur (emphasis here) poetry, whoomp there it is.
Light and sound
the mist it shrouds
the heart that beats
while evergreen.
The constant sprawl,
will rise then fall,
this never changing
feels obscene.
You sit in boxes
day and night,
feeling lesser
for some plight.
You think it ill
remember still
natures rhythm
there unseen.
The answers come
and feel untrue,
with nothing left
be cold and blue,
a turning point
you are still you,
and nature has her evergreen.
