Porcelain people
Dime a dozen.
Porcelain things expensive and rare. Things loved.
People used.
Even the universe caved.

There is no companion,
Only company.
There is no love but
They are lovely.
There is no curiosity to ask:
“What are your dreams?”
“Your secrets?”
“Your difficulties?”
There’s no desire to observe a legacy.

Maybe the protagonist is to blame.
Years were spent building
A foundation based on
Secrecy and mistrust
But I had no idea
People were happy and willing
To play along.

I saw the rain falling like tears
Telling stories of pain to trees
Whispering to nature to grow
Even when they freeze as snow
Falling from above on the ground
Meditating in a wisdom sound
Reincarnating in to a stream
For a spring to sing and dream
Then flowing all united at sea
Guiding their trip to eternal glee
Reborning in solasta as silver dew
Mending melting pain and rising
With water's soul forever energizing

∴ Lyna Salman