cerulean

look up
raise your digits to the sky
hands folded in prayer
waiting for signals
that will show you a path
waiting for the answers
to the questions you have asked
but the blue skies
are just that
chill in their silence
while the vines crawl up your spines
the green rust curdles your blood
the leaves take over your skin
till you are nothing
but antennas
raised to indifferent skies
waiting for signals
that will never come

----
No answers, man. There are none.