norm

dav

The green hills whisper their secrets of rain and sun.
The char from the summer fires isn’t gone or forgotten.
It rests beneath the lush grasses and vibrant bushes
And whispers its own secrets of flaming touches.
It pokes through here and there to ensure it is seen.
To be seen is to be remembered and that is everything.
For the summer winds will come again like always
And all it takes is a spark and the hills will be ablaze.
When the hills go up, some homes will surely follow,
They line the ridges and fill the canyons and hollows.
This cycle repeats every year, from green to brown to fire.
We sacrifice much to the pressures of the social norm pyre.

viva la

Another silly poem post
Just because I like to write them most
Perhaps that isn’t true
Then again, who knows why I do the things I do
I don’t know, that’s for sure
The words decide where to go
And my fingers only work to assist
But this is the last you’ll have to endure
The last this month with rhyming flow
The urge for more, I shall resist