Flowers are very mysterious.


Lost in the Meadow



These flowers move with the slightest breeze
Always spreading themselves
Unstable in their movements,
But always in the air, flying
The wind's aura visible to them
An array of colors flowing like a river
The meadow full of life and motion
The sun shining its glow onto these free spirits
But there's a dark spot in this jubilation
One flower that still has its pedals
It doesn't sway like the rest of them
A breeze can't budge this flower
Firm in its stance like a tree
Not to let anything ruin its structure
But the dew constantly runs down its stem
The wind pushing the drops off with such force
A contained thunderstorm in the daylight
It wants to be noticed, but shrivels when seen
So it closes its pedals when the breeze comes
And hides in the dark when light appears
A mystery why it's still alive
A flower needs to open itself to grow
To be touched and caressed by the hands of the wind
And absorb the brightness of the sun's rays
But it hurts when those virginal pedals spread out
Because it's fragile on the inside
But when it does open up to the light
And let its pedals sway with the breeze
It's beautiful, a natural high
But every time it opens, the wind increases
The serene breeze turns to a hurricane
Leaving its detrimental mark on its frame
So it will remain in the darkness
To wither away by itself
Keeping each of its scarred pedals
Yearning for that breeze to come back
But to never feel it again
For a breeze is constantly moving
And flowers must spread wide in order to catch it
And become entangled in its beautiful, soft hold
It won't stay for the unyielding
So as the other flowers spread and fly with the winds
This flower will remain untouched
Because nothing cares for it anymore
Oh well




Poetry by Barry
Read 668 times
Written on 2007-01-26 at 16:07

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