How many hours
For all the flowers
of this world,
Even if absurd,
how many,
for the memory;
how many
for the spell
to be broken,
for the world to be shaken,
for the words to be spoken.
Glass, mass, media, woken
Shutter, break free, loudly spoken
Truth is now the ever never, maybe.
Truth is the delicate scent of flowers.
Only, most people have lost the sense of smell
That is the trend lately, the ones with superpowers
Will apparently end up in hell
