Where does it all come from? When I lay down in the late hours and decide to wake back up. Where does it all come from? This is the hardest poem to write of all.
For there is too much out there that is rough as broken shards of glass. Yet, I know that there is more, the more that keeps me walking forward.
The blinding rays of sun light that flow over the mountains and trees at early-rise. The leaves hanging over branches and casting shadows, tilting and swaying all over the earth. The droplets of precision across the fresh, green grass. The birds singing their morning tune of routine.
The view from up above, where the clouds take their own route. So unflawed, divided up, yet combined in a way that is puzzled specifically into a masterpiece. Wonders of arrangements in shapes that are recognizable or imagination. The breeze, sometimes cool, sometimes warm, depending on the mood of the season.
Shoes on the dashboard on that trip across the world. The towering man-built wonder. The streaming lights at night, displaying happiness that brightens every gaze. Music that pounds the concrete and thumps through our hearts. Sparking eyes and snow blinked away from their lashes.
Fresh covers, laundry soap, and mint. Stretching out and covered up in warmth. Love and comfort given in gentleness. Prayers sent up to heaven. Sandy eyes, and dreams that consist of a wish one night and a terror for the other. Waking up filled with energy or sleeping in to finish that intriguing journey through a dream.
Spring is fresh. A new start to a new year. Trying to look new. Getting a regretful hair-cut. Late afternoons and early mornings at the library again. Fluffy, cuteness being born innocent. Naming pets and babies.
Summer comes by and school is away. Work is busy but humanity is in a march. Converse shoes and jangling keys. Laughter and friends. Pools of chlorine and sun protection. Staying out late under starry nights and fires with smores. Movies that leave you breathless with exhilaration. Best friends in the dark, laughing until it hurts.
Autumn comes with the dullness of the green dying. Next comes the shade of red and orange, consisting of its own pattern of lively beauty. Walks through the woods. Hearing the gentle words of trees. I have seen it all but when I look closer, I see something entirely new. For it is fresh observance that brings on a new perspective.
When winter falls, so does the sky. There is the shrieks of eagerness to jump into the white paradise. Persuading others to join in the tumble of flashing blurs that hit the others skin. While creatures hibernate and the rest find coats, the snowflakes continue to fall and to revel. For the wonders in wonderland are much like the sky, white and clean of any other opinion.
Yet, after all these seasons, it is still the one thing that I cannot decide. Which is my favorite and which I love most. For each season brings another song with different emotions and peculiar poems. I have a heart ready for the adventure of life, to find my own way and find my own path. I have made it this far and I still got a way to find my place in these seasons of life.
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