Lit Mag Poetry

Vast, Green Meadow

I sit in the vast, green meadow
watching the tips of grass sway
The sun’s rays dance across my shoulders
as the breeze cooly kisses my cheek
Other than the sound
of the tree’s leaves rustling,
the busy buzz of bees,
and my heart tearing to two,
the Earth is silent
Though I’m surrounded by flowers,
varying in color and shape,
my eyes can’t help but be glued
on a particular dandelion
Far out in the undergrowth it sways
Nobody moves in the way that he does, soft and flowing and free
In his expression, there is light, and his leaves are luscious and untorn
Curls are formed by his ray florets, his stem is thin and long
Kind lips are prominent though hardly any thoughts escape them and hardly any words are heard through them
Rooted in my hands is my predicament. My thoughts are these:
One. I want to get closer. To pick the stem and appreciate beauty within detailing. Engravings of stories, the silk of the pedals. But to break the spine, in due time, it is guaranteed to wither. I will only remember the brown leaves that crumble at my feet.
Two. I leave it alone. Sacrifice my longing in exchange for an eternal painting. The dandelion, in the distance, in all of its delicacy, is sweet. But I say farewell to all of what could have been.
And so as I sit in this vast, green meadow,
I’m left with my choice, sitting here as one;
I’ll leave you be, untouched by me
so I can continue to watch as you bask in the sun

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