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The Little Things

*pic courtesy from pinterest  The little things the little smile the little flower in the corner aisle the little butterfly catches my eye along with  the hovering bee like sketches drawn in the sky look at the little ant fleet just close to my feet the little spider takes a warm seat the little girl who hops on the broken tile while her mother looks right across  the street from a mile I wave at her she waves back the little gestures the little fingers the little spider continues to linger the little heartbeats as humming treats while I pick up the little crumbs from my bread last night
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Cry

It’s all a lie..
But why.
Cry.
What starts ends.
What breaks mends.
What seems impossible comprehends.
The face that smiles fades..
The face that hurts trades..
The eyes that meant ran into a cascade.
Revolt rises to subside.
Jolt ceases to reside.
Bolted doors open to showcase empty corridors.
It’s never too late to find those unsaid words.
It’s too early to assume those words will ever be heard.
It’s too easy to give up on the irony of being absurd.
It’s nothing but a sigh..

But why..
Cry.
What holds leaves.
What goes two folds decieves.
What annoys receives..
What was untold believes.
The wrapped up heart..
The charred up mark.
The scar within..
An unknown spark.
Tears are bold..
Riding cold into the slippery eyes.
Failed attempt to wait until they imitate a false state.
It’s a hunger of an imaginary kind.
An anger of a foolish mind.
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