A fragile flower, a daisy, I suppose, sat lonely in the field with nothing but plain old grass. The flower stood out from the field of grass. The flower meant more than the plain old saying,
'The grass is greener on the side.'
It knew that no matter where it stood, every single grass around her, was no greener than the rest. They were all just 'Plain Jane's' pointing fingers at other grasses on the field.
The flower sat untouched from the world, for the flowers buds were always in the clouds. The flower usually looked up, its delicate petals kissed by the soft mists of clouds that swarmed it. Passing strangers would often look towards the flower and shake their heads. The flower didn't mind though, its petals were always filled with pastel colours that reminded you of dreams and softness.
The flower often heard soft voices, telling the flower, to get away from the clouds, pull your head in and look around you, it's far too dangerous for a young bud much like yourself. It didn't listen to the warnings. It was far too pulled in, for the world around it to save the young flower.
Days went on. and the flower kept on dreaming. The flower felt safe in the arms of the clouds, air, and mist of mother nature. The flower didn't expect for mother natures arms to strangle the flower and for it's clouds to suffocate her and pull the young flower from it's roots, from it's place in the world and grow among running mindless children, and lost souls.
The flower no longer looks up into the clouds, but now, it looks down on the world, beyond the overlooked strangers and wonder,
'Was it worth imagining a dream not real if the soil I grew in, was a dream lost in it's self?'
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iranerd_
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Creativity At It's Best
PoetryI like to see the word in my own perspective. It is hard trying to explain something no one is going to understand. I like to speak in tongues. This Book is for those who like to interpret stories or poems they read, into something understanding, p...
