Beautiful unswaying nature

I saw nature at its pinnaculous beauty

in a landscape of unmoved swaying men

amidst busy trees seemingly dancing

atop stop lights and buttered buildings

where everything stenched like nothingness

a pungency of redundant budgings

A dream softingly sound asleep

to the brink of death

A breath held tightly

on a wire,

on a tight rope

threaded with golden screams

Nature has reverted

to the unborn

to the dead

and left all

movement to the corpses

Oh, will we ever dance again?

or at the least,

sway with closed eyes

subjectively spared

To a silicone clock?