Foreign Gardens

Slipping softly through the spotted stalks and blossoms never seen, I gayly cross the motley colors and I dance about the breeze. These…choices I carry on my back, that weigh me down and depress, Stress my soul and attack that muscle in my chest. Anguish and anger, They satellite me like moons old yet new While fear of cheer sticks to me with pounds and pounds of glue. Blue Indigo Black Black Maroon Red Red Pink White The flowers of this foreign garden startle me with they’re simplicity in beauty. Should I frolic in these pastures, surely I would falter, fall, and shatter. Surely, would that even matter?