Wildflower

The sun rises
slow and warm,
Like honey,
Diffusing itself
through its nerves,
And the petals open,
bloom and flourish,
Become part of the
beauty in a world
so recently lacking.

The birth is quiet
and peaceful,
Without ceremony,
without celebration,
Nature needs no
Senseless prompt,
Not like we do.

Maybe that in the end
is what scares us,
Like a child searching
for control, we scream
and we cry, long and loud,
But the world ignores us,
Not willing to indulge
every foolish desire.

We’re unteachable, though,
Pathologically selfish,
Obsessed with destruction,
We pull flowers
Out of the ground,
And adorn ourselves
with the corpses,
We pretend we care
Although we don’t,
But the pretense is
Enough for us,
If not for anything else.

But for now everything
is calm and beautiful,
Life begins once more
and we allow it to happen,
And one day soon
it won’t matter if
it’s a weed or wildflower,
Because no one will
be around to judge
what life is worthy
of continuing, on
the earth we were
all meant to share.

© Richela Rosales Maroto 2018

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