stay still. perched atop the crow’s nest battered by the frothing waves, and you can see everything your eye’s will allow you to see. the world is not ending, i have proof plastered on my palms, i’ve got roots dangling out of my socks because i only want to stay put and reassure you that we are not collapsing. so stop dreaming of the end, bottom-lip biter, buck up and tuck that chin high into the nook of a neck the clouds have offered up for you. flags will be flown in the morning to awaken the dreamers, grey world dust glowing through the rays of indigo sunlight whispering well-wishes to anyone who will listen. stay still. the world is not over. the children lining the streets in rumpled linen and ghost eyes are only shadows of dissenter’s hearts. the knolls have only been bruised by october revolutions and cold lungs breathing colder words. stay still. let the trees become you, let the wind envelop you, let the earth undress you with its summer coyness. the world, haloed dreamer, is only just alive. mother nature, she is tired and her back is creaking heavy with willow branches weighing heavier on all her wisps of gold that stretch across her child. so sometimes she sleeps and the winter comes and i know that you hate it so much because you just want to be gold and dream of the world burning up blistering flames dancing around the room like you would if no one was looking. but everyone is looking. stay still. stay beautiful. look harder. change those dreams of desolation, we will not rejoice in black smoke and death echoes, no, we will not dream of anything but the warmth and the tender touch of life across our upturned cheeks.