Cultivating the world with fear
they slither far from here to near.
In a world
a field
of straw and hay people
lived a human girl by the name of Maple.
Turning to straw was once a fear
now it’s turned into a cure
nobody is able to adhere.
Stuck to the fields grounds made up of grays and browns
she dresses in her lovely gown.
A gown made up of blacks and blues
the sun settles on her awful gloom.
Looking nice ended up feeling like ice
the sun beamed heat right over her.
Melted and alone
she thinks of all the stones yet to be left upthrown.
Carrying the stones grew heavy
but she thought she ought to not worry;
she can’t turn back now.
In her fields of grays and browns
she feels the wind flow around her gown
that’s when she decides that she should probably sit down.
Sitting down with straw and hay
she knows there’s nothing left to say.
Say it anyway, yes she will
“I wish to be straw, I want my life to be still”
Her feet caved inward
this is when she knew
that being still
is something she could do.
Maple lived in a world of fear
cultivated by those far too near;
she knew she had to do something.
With no end in sight
she screamed out
but their will was so might;
she thought she couldn’t win this fight.
Whispers creeped closer in her ears;
they grew colder every year.
“Becoming hay means that you get to stay”
and so staying she considered.
Permitted from the outside world
she thought that staying would be furled.
The wind flows around her gown
now she can stay in the ground.
Her hair turned to ice
and that never turns into anything nice
brittled and brown it burned.
Into straw she became
seeing around her the decay
made her realize why she so wanted to end her stay.
Her stay ought to have been over
because stillness now won’t help her hold her composure
there’s nothing left the world has to show her.
All the straw people claw
and mostly the hay people just gnaw
inside of herself she had curled.
Maple had thought that the field was her staple
but nothing around her was capable.
Into the darkness she had grew
taking with her all of the rainfalls dew.
Few had spoke of the way she became
muttering to herself the same as she came.
Wishing for a life more tame
had led her to a sense of shame.
Far away from all held dear
she began to disappear.
Rotting in her field with grounds of grays and browns
she no longer could hear the sounds.
Her fate became clear
once she’d fully disappear
for death is all that can adhere.
The night skies shine dark blue
her time is truly due
for this is all she really knew.
Accepting that straw will not last
although the hay she will surely surpass
Maple has become one with the grass.
Cultivated in a world of fake people
all thats left now
are the
straw
and
hay
people.
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