The things you come up during a bus ride.

Breezing against my cheek is a chilly afternoon wind;

Dusty may it seem but the unusual cold took my attention:

Shady, and cool; the sky is blue?

Ominous, yet there is comfort the way the clouds glow.

The bus has arrived and quickly, I took a seat;

Grey, white, and various others; moving in organized flow:

Lively? Busy. Duty calls, but no flame was lit.

The soulless move but the living remain.

Perhaps it was progress' fault that stunted spirits;

Our minds, expanding, but never yielding delicacies,

Hearts are rotting, shrinking tighter;

And tighter;

Till hands can no longer grasp, even cease;

And left Death to be the sole redeemer.

I looked up the window, the clouds above spew veins of lightning;

Storms come and they come violently;

They leave tracks of unwanted loss, of broken things;

But don't you think being broken is necessary?

A wave of droplets fell:

Well, rain falls suddenly;

Though we're aware that they soon will;

We never cared, never knew exactly when.

Beads of water slide down the window; racing;

Jolting down, each overtaking another:

Life's a race? Like the racing waters? No, it's not; though it seem to be.

They never race, they just seem to be.

Nature is mesmerizing, but humanity? Perplexing:

We make machines to do our bidding but we scowl at those who dictate.

What matters then? Intention? Belief? Idea? Postulate?

Like plants, we are invasive, ever-growing;

But what do we nurture exactly? Uncontrollably. For what aim?

One thing's certain, nothing is certain. Uncertainty.