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I miss home Where we don't have to cut flowers in order to enjoy them I remember the earth before Great green gases violated its verdurous valleys When we could breathe without a mask When it was safe to run in the summertime I miss it now Because sometimes the only thing keeping me steady was the reassurance of the sidewalk under my sneakers In a persistent 3/4 rhythm every afternoon And the cold air dragging its fingers on my tongue before falling into my lungs Hospital beds are lonely The tuneless beeping of a multitude of machines form an orchestra around my body And, suddenly, there is music behind my eyes
The sun Not a creator, necessarily, but certainly god like Giving life to the seeds as they sleep Two worlds, so alike in their fervor, pulsing with life And yet so different as well From darkness to the brightest sunlight they emerge The smallest of green tendrils That tie together above and below The perfect definition of a bridge between And as the roots conquer the land underground The leaves will reach towards the sky Unending, expanding Yes they will die Their leaves will wither and their roots cease to explore Their colors will fade until the brightest hues are no more But the most beautiful thing about wildflowers Is that out of their death will always come a new life