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Trapped
Brushing against the Cedar he takes in its pungent, fresh scent.
The Juniper berries sink into the moist ground beneath his feet,
and next spring a sapling shall breach the ground anew.
He stops in his trek for a minute and closes his eyes.
He focuses on the the sunrays warming his face and smiles
as a light breeze caresses it in a loving embrace.
Out here, on his own, he can enjoy existence.
Despite all the hardships of life, here he
can just be and experience.
Why have we complicated life so thoroughly?
He asks himself. Why can't we be satisfied just
to walk through nature's beauty and grace?
Why raise skyscrapers and reach ever higher?
Back in the gray of the city his life is hectic.
Everyday he has somewhere to be,
something to finish, someone to meet.
He's in a perpetual rush most of the time,
and the days and weeks flash by in a blurry haze.
He has no time just to stop and look around him.
Even if he did all he'd see is the sweltering blacktop and concrete.
All that he enjoys here in the wilderness, is absent there.
So when he is here he simply stops, observes, and lives.
He tries to take it all in, remember it, so he can
recall it in his cramped cubicle later.
Your're right this is very
Your're right this is very similar to my poem, Heavens Gift. This is a lovely poem, I could almost be there. Very nice. :-) x
Thanks again for taking a
Thanks again for taking a look at the poem : )
We'll just keep writing 'til there's nothing left to write.
We'll just keep waiting 'til they read all our works left to right.
Wow this is great. Thank you
Wow this is great. Thank you for posting this!
Tar & Cement
...is a song from the late sixties. I know two people who hate nature, bugs and greenery make them shiver. Artifice and the man made has replaced the origins of everything for them. This is a fine poem, well said - Lady A
.
It is funny isn't it? That
It is funny isn't it? That some find solace where others find misery.
I suppose that's human nature, and what makes the individual unique.
We'll just keep writing 'til there's nothing left to write.
We'll just keep waiting 'til they read all our works left to right.