The? Beginning...

"Mon amour mon ami," one says when in need or so it seems when the bitter breeze forms upon where autumn feeds. 

Caught in the wilderness, concrete and evergreen, somewhere in between was the wild dreams aching to be. 

When the moment arose, when the aria had finished—what then was felt? 

What action then—

did you choose? 

As you heard the words, 

were they not absurd? 

Were they not of you? 

Or were they? 

I can not tell from the tears in which dry for a society to claim it is fine. 

I can not tell from the screaming and shouting, the fear of not existing. 

I can not tell for not once has the human chosen itself. 

Here lies the questions of the human’s capacity and its reliance on redefined lawful ties to moralistic gambles it trades from a saddle to a child.