If only we could live like Luna.
A plastered spirit suspended in a sequin aura.
Wistfully with a perplexed look on her face,
She casts gleams below onto a raised silhouette of iron tins.
For inside those reflective boxes, she observes like a bird,
Swarms of worker bees rush around.
And in the trance of their own hums,
They fog their windows with buzz,
Locking out Luna’s glow.
But in that they ignore her message,
Simply set on do not disturb.
She harbors ideals that cannot be brought to the brain through a transmitter,
For they can only be received by willing eyes.

The pleasure of Lingo is to sway in the wind,
And the joy of the bees is to dance in electric songs,
But if only we could be like the former,
Just like the Lingo with their coffee bark faces and long limbs.
Always still,
Until,
The wind comes along and moves them.
The way life should be.

If only we could live like the moon and the trees,
For they truly feel the earth and the sky.