I'm once again standing in a field of poppies surrounded by wasps and bees.
And every step I take I increase my chance of being stung.
The issue is, I'm not walking out of my own free will but rather am being pushed to my blissful demise.
Because this isn't just a field of poppies, it's a field of who I am, was, and going to be.
There are wilted flowers towering over their blooming buddies, and with every leaf departing from the bud, another cycle of learning and understanding begins.
And the graceful reds coloring my imagination are nothing more than a reminder of the agonizing image of the inevitability of excruciating pain and death.
Only the buds that have not begun to spring a flowering beauty remain a constant image of innocence.
Because while the creatures awaiting their luminous pollen grow in angst, the sprout remains untouched and free.
And I long to be in a field of prepubescent greens, free of worry and angst,
But all I'm left with is a field of poppies.
A field of wasps and bees.
YOU ARE READING
The Truth Embarks a New Beginning
PoetryWhen you feel like there's no way out, life laughs and toys with your pain. But, when pain is built on top of pain, the doors of mockery close, and you can walk out into the world, with a newfound understanding and acceptance of what shit you have o...
