Seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years, decades, centuries, Millenia
build and build and build just to see it all taken down to be rebuilt. Upgraded.
lived in. loved in. cast aside. Trashed. Spat upon.
oh.
oh, but how beautiful she will be
When she takes herself back.
Towering cast iron skeletons of stark industry decayed.
glimmering glass scattered and shattered cast among giant roots. Greenest leather leaf. Vines reaching, reaching, reaching building, building, building, ruining (how does it feel to be suffocated)
The evolution of things taking growth to an extreme.
that feels, just too good to say no to (the possibility, even)
Massive roots, gorging themselves on liberation. Shattering pavement, scattering concrete, flinging dust into the air as if in some mode of escape (or is it celebration).
Trees. Cities of trees and roots and vines where the captives can roam and roar, and play and run and gnash their teeth (the cages have been pried open by the vines).
Climate instability turning driest desert into a monsoon that brings life. Wiping slates clean in flash floods. Laying it’s upgrades to waste.
And from the solstice comes color. Orchids, lilacs, jasmine, Oh, the jasmine, the jasmine and gardenias, and lilies, wildflowers of such fragrance that would kill a human.
Were there any left.
They don’t deserve it.
We don’t deserve it.
And so she waits.