Reflections

The celeritous bodies of the hills and plains Are a true wonder. Green fields stimulating A world of living, with just as much depth For the dead. Dulcet hills sing sweet songs of melody, Crescendoing with tunes of enticement. And although the plains can seduce fields of flowers, Or hold secrets of infinite land, they are cursed And deemed humdrum as they sit side by side the flowing hills. These plains are a mere reflection of life itself. The seemingly feeling of dragging on, It never stops growing expansive and hopeful. As if the universe were in our reach. These plains hold poppy fields and sunflowers. Dandelions constantly blowing into a faraway landscape. Flying through the wind, Into forests full of fragrant, froggy green And mountains of momentum. Swift dandelions wave to passebayers. The trees of the forest extend each thoughtful branch Towards the new visitor. Tingling little twigs and leaves, Yearning for the knowledge of the foreign culture. Each leaf wanting to shake hands With the floating white mass, but only a few get the honor. Looking back at the tall green trees, Brown bark, outstretched limbs, The dandelion moves on. On to the arid desert, yearning for something to hold, Something living, lively, flying. The deserts dry mouth Too cracked to cry out for help. The dandelion moves on. On to the dense jungle. Deeper than the eye can see, But the dandelion sees straight through it. Weaving in and out of the green, Vines calling out for the white fluff, But never quite reaching it. The dandelion moves on. On to the melting pot of sea life Of blue and dark, salted waters. Where the journey of already known truths will end. Not on to the next, because life drowns you out at some point.