Wildflower,
Born into this world.
Born of chaos and love;
Ignored in beauty and ugliness
Have you no mirror?
Your every thorn
I adorn with snowflakes
And blood.
Not every rain brings with it a storm.
So hold fast a bit more.
Wildflower,
You are no rose,
But a wanderer's heart knows
What pain pours forth your fragrance
Into this world
Of men and metals
Of plastic petals
So hold fast
Till the earth calls, again.
And through smoke, falls
Cold rain.
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7 comments:
Reminds Me of Van Gogh's paintings amongst many other things. Yes, there are Wildflowers which sometimes drive Us out of Our senses. You want to take a deep plunge and hold on to the smell more than anything else. The melting pot holds out their fragility and wild, eccentric streak. But do We drown? We only dive to rest and then come out with our body and soul bearing the same smell. . . with Us dripping droplets and molecules of a thousand pearly dewdrops. But they don't ever quench the thirst.
Sometimes we just sit on a meadow for we are weary. Not because we need to, but because we want to. Even as winter numbs us, we have memories of a summer. The wild fragrance is not warmth, but comfort in a bleak world. It doesn't feel like much. It doesn't have the same charm that soapbubbles have for a child. It doesn't have the same indomitable blessing that water has for the thirsty. But still, it is beautiful because it generates no reaction in us. And meaninglessness becomes beauty when it becomes a motif in our life by just being in it.
I was not trying to mean either the meaningful or the meaningless. Soapbubbles always fascinate. Indeed. They take Us in, put a shield (even if it is a vulnerable one...maybe that's where it's charm resides) around Our Dreams and float around till they are chased down and popped by other children of the same clan.
Wildflowers nourish Us. . . and We keep trying to vainly protect them. But it is better not to pattern them out in the gardens. better not to scissor them. You know. . . and I know too. :)
...But a wanderer's heart knows
What pain pours forth your fragrance
Into this world
Of men and metals
Of plastic petals
*waits for the earth to call*
beautiful........only a wanderer at heart would understand the value of wildflowers
@all: thanks!
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