Move along

 
Prompt #26: Quiet Windows

In the outpouring of craggy rock,
bone spurs from the mountainside,
few things are visible
but the aging face of time,
the shavings of an empire,
the unnatural halt of geology
and the quieter sides
of our nature,
far from the discordant horns
bleating wrong notes
to snapped branches
and the downturned veins
of new leaves,
brighter green
than any child's mind,
'til they turn to the sky in death,
weak pleas for sustenance
met only by shivering derision.
"Quite right,"
we nod in agreement.
"Nothing to see here."
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Foo Fighters, White Limo