35 9 9

A bit of a happier tone to this one

Like an ant under your desk,

Please, check under your desk,

I overheard everything,

And I listened with a bat's hearing,

When I heard a daughter whispering to her mother,

Why aren't we in the fifth dimension?

We have five ways to interact,

And I knew it was delu—

If it's a night robbed of light,

And even torches are blind,

I think of lavender,

And the coarse extends to fine.

That is, the coarse and winding wood,

Sometimes peeling,

Sometimes unappealing,

But forever protecting,

A frail flower,

With all means of its power.

And so,

I am reminded,

That I have embarked on nonsense,

And so I am at sea,

And forever capable of seeing.

When I've felt nothing,

Between my breast and bone,

I touch lavender,

And emotions leap into me.

A frail flower,

That splits in my hands,

And become spongy seeds,

That wipe their oil,

All over me.

And so,

I am reminded,

That everything,

Even nothing,

Is made up of a million other things.

And I,

Should pick wisely,

The seeds I plan to sow,

And one day reap,

To become my emotions of tomorrow.

When I've heard nothing,

No mother's comforting words,

I hear lavender,

And I know,

Someone is speaking.

The sound of wind between leaves,

The sound of buds slowly growing,

It's almost nothing,

But it very much is something.

It doesn't drift from someone's mouth,

To my listening ears,

Instead, it starts in my mind,

And soothes my soul.

Because I often forget,

That whilst it is auditory,

Sounds are also a mental capability.

And from there,

In the whispers of lavender everywhere,

I begin to hear,

The words I desperately wish to hear.

When I've sniffed danger,

On every corner,

I smell lavender,

And the nightmares are finally over.

Yesterday morning,

I picked a million lavender flowers,

Lost of all their color,

And left them to discolor further.

Then I pressed them into cloth,

To make them into pillows,

That I slid under my pillow,

That I rest against every night,

So the child within me,

Has something comfy,

To slumber on.

And so I dream like a baby,

Of a world filled with wonder.

When I gorge upon failure,

My own pitiful state,

I taste lavender,

And failure sweetens ever so slightly.

I see the bees,

Intoxicating themselves,

On the succulent and sexy,

Purples and pinks,

Of lavender liquids.

And I wonder,

Since they make such wonderful honey,

Surely they have amazing taste,

In other sugars too?

But I've never tried,

And I never will try,

The undiscovered taste,

Of lavender.

Because for me,

It is a perfect motivator,

To focus on the higher peak,

That draws nearer,

Even in failure.

And maybe it's considered silly,

To see the world,

In five different dimensions,

But that's just you thinking in three.

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