A treaty I never signed

I signed a treaty, in the concrete floors, never having signed it, I was never sure the roads the run beneath that fly, in the stream of lights that honk and cry The eyes burn, under the sun that rushed blood up my sleeves On days to lay grassy and shade under swarms of leaves As the flock of birds comment, "It's a graveyard, yet to live it's fine, the wishful believers, waste their worth and wine, to all the goodwilling, the paintbrush is handy, the stroke to art, is not far, just for trying" The beauty is how it fills, the gaps under unhinged puzzle pieces all it does, is bring the dust and grasses, leafers, to it's model, till it creases it is a pact, one can make, the treaty one never takes