The worlds are calling her.
They're screaming her name.
She hears their chant.
And reciprocates.
She was always in love with nature.
The high peaks.
Covered with the white.
The flat lands.
Full of barks and its juniors.
The great blue.
Home to the mystery of life.
She loved it all.
The animals,
They were the best part.
The way the red of a fox,
Would resemble fire.
The way their ears,
They just stood.
The wings of a bird,
No one in particular.
Just all she loved,
Unconditionally.
The colours they had,
Like rainbows painted,
By Gogh himself.
The fins of a dolphin,
Or a shark,
Or any other creature of the blue.
The way they were shaped.
The way they cut through water.
Like a hot knife on butter.
She was amazed.
She wanted to feel,
The water touch so smoothly.
She wanted to hear,
The air whisper in her ears.
She wanted to see,
The forests as though ,
She belonged there.
The only place,
Where she felt accepted.
Earth.
The natural one.
Not the high rises.
Or the cemented windows.
But the panoramic view,
Land has to offer.
But life isn't always fair.
She learnt that the hard way.
Her dreams up in flames.
No one could save them.
Soon she became an adult.
A responsible adult.
Faster than her age asked of her.
And she lived a life like all.
Had children.
Raised them.
And then sent them off,
To live their dreams.
She killed her wants,
For her kin's needs.
She killed her needs,
For her family's wants.
Years passed by,
And soon came the silver age,
She was 70.
Her joints weak,
Just like her will.
She fought to live on,
And realised,
40 years a little too late,
That her life was never about her.
She forgot to live.
She was so caught up,
With needs,
She rid the wants,
From her life,
From her mind,
From her heart.
A couple of weeks go by,
And she ends up in a home,
The family that she raised,
The family for which,
She gave herself up for,
That family left her.
All alone on the last days of her life.
She saw the truth.
She took her clock,
And changed the time,
She took it as back as it could wind.
And it broke.
Dementia left her.
And
Reality took her.
~CrosOver
YOU ARE READING
The Psyche Of Mine
Poesia**** I've never really known how to move, where to see or what to feel.. But sometimes, I have moved enough to be alive, I have seen enough to not go blind, And I have felt words enough to feel.. **** **** Its my first time properly penning down m...
