This field of weeds

Pastels in nature

in this field of weeds

I cannot let go of it

it is infused within my very bones

these greens, blues, yellows and browns

this sunlight, this warmth

it is time and my life depends upon it

yet, I cannot part with it

Of this I am

because as I sit hidden

the breeze moves this field of weeds

in glorious waves of string

I hear the ground move

in small earthquakes

and flowers grow

like stretching rubber bands

I sit motionless as I am in this mortal painting

I have become invisible like air

at the very moment

butterflies flutter over

my head

whispering they

have ‘no fear

of me’.

 

 

 

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