Post by latet on Jan 12, 2007 20:40:06 GMT -5
Wild Flowers
The sweet, wild scent lingers upon the morning air.
Bright and various the colors glimmer against the seas of green and gray.
Many are small and some are large, each this shape and that.
Each is its own, each unique.
They are the form of beauty, the children of Venus.
Alone, one is its own glory, but among many, it is like the stars in the sky.
Each weaves to form a cloth of color, a wild woven veil across the land.
Close they seem to rule, but seeing can be a deceiving tool.
For the giants loom in the distance like the mighty ancient gods.
They are a dark shadow against the pale sky.
Unmoving, unwavering, ancient and supreme.
Small the flowers are compared to these monoliths, yet each flower holds a power just as great.
A deep power each wears proudly like a gem.
How could something so small compare to these giants of legend?
The secret of life, each is equal in its own right.
Even the tiniest flower can compare in beauty to the great glory of the mountains.
The sweet scent lingers ever more in the morning air.
The winds of change come and go.
The sun fades and cold remains, a silent warning of the season.
Glistening white covers the mountains caps.
Sweet wildflowers weep and wilt.
Each dies in a frozen tomb.
Yet the mountains continue to linger and loom.
The mountains remain, dormant in slumber.
The sweet scent lingers no longer, a solemn reminder.
Once more the sun becomes a golden cadence revealed by the great Helios.
The frozen mist-like veil melts into the ground.
The mountains again become rulers of earth and sky.
Awoken from slumber to cast a daunting eye.
And yet, forth from the ground, there springs a little mound.
Dirt and stones part the way, and little greens sprout from below.
Little nymphs they are, born from the liquid cold and rays of gold.
Time comes and goes with each growing, each knowing.
For the secret of life is revealed once more.
A cycle it is, a truth ancient and complete.
Constant, eternal.
Life to death, to create new life once more.
The mountains may forever linger, but the flower too will renew.
~Blossoming and blooming, wild and sweet, each becomes new, once more complete.
The story of flowers such as these can be seen in all living things.
Although the mountains are constant, life is too.
The sun shines, and the birds sing, a sweet melody that mingles in the spring.
The mountains are far and dark shadows upon the horizon.
Yet, little specks of color like splashes of paint, glitter in the valley below.
Although small and fragile, each its own sacred life, it too will become part of the cycle.
The giant Nordic gods of the horizon will always loom, watching each flower spring anew.
Though daunting and intimidating, the mountains will always protect the little colored specks.
For the mountains too are part of the cycle, a bridge a crossing, a cool embrace.
A mother and her children, a sacred bond of the highest order.
A mother may live long and care with all her might, yet a child may still wilt and leave life.
Although the heart may become cold and bitter, it will wait.
For in the next few season, she knows, once more her children will be reborn.
And that is the cycle, the thing called life.
Some things are constant, never ending, eternal guardians.
While others may live long and fade and die.
But no matter what the case or cause, it is for sure.
Life is a sacred thing, fragile and unique, it will repeat, a cycle older than the stars, and each we all accept this fate.
A word for the wise, a tale told to thee.
When you feel that cool breeze with a swish and bend of the trees.
Look to the sky and to the seas, each roaring and raging at unease.
Look into that horizon and see not just the mountains, but what looms beneath.
Look below and look ahead, seem the both behold.
The scared bond and the treasure long sought.
Mother and child one with another.
One unyielding one distant in thought.
This, that you see, is simple, it is and shall always be,
Life.~
The sweet, wild scent lingers upon the morning air.
Bright and various the colors glimmer against the seas of green and gray.
Many are small and some are large, each this shape and that.
Each is its own, each unique.
They are the form of beauty, the children of Venus.
Alone, one is its own glory, but among many, it is like the stars in the sky.
Each weaves to form a cloth of color, a wild woven veil across the land.
Close they seem to rule, but seeing can be a deceiving tool.
For the giants loom in the distance like the mighty ancient gods.
They are a dark shadow against the pale sky.
Unmoving, unwavering, ancient and supreme.
Small the flowers are compared to these monoliths, yet each flower holds a power just as great.
A deep power each wears proudly like a gem.
How could something so small compare to these giants of legend?
The secret of life, each is equal in its own right.
Even the tiniest flower can compare in beauty to the great glory of the mountains.
The sweet scent lingers ever more in the morning air.
The winds of change come and go.
The sun fades and cold remains, a silent warning of the season.
Glistening white covers the mountains caps.
Sweet wildflowers weep and wilt.
Each dies in a frozen tomb.
Yet the mountains continue to linger and loom.
The mountains remain, dormant in slumber.
The sweet scent lingers no longer, a solemn reminder.
Once more the sun becomes a golden cadence revealed by the great Helios.
The frozen mist-like veil melts into the ground.
The mountains again become rulers of earth and sky.
Awoken from slumber to cast a daunting eye.
And yet, forth from the ground, there springs a little mound.
Dirt and stones part the way, and little greens sprout from below.
Little nymphs they are, born from the liquid cold and rays of gold.
Time comes and goes with each growing, each knowing.
For the secret of life is revealed once more.
A cycle it is, a truth ancient and complete.
Constant, eternal.
Life to death, to create new life once more.
The mountains may forever linger, but the flower too will renew.
~Blossoming and blooming, wild and sweet, each becomes new, once more complete.
The story of flowers such as these can be seen in all living things.
Although the mountains are constant, life is too.
The sun shines, and the birds sing, a sweet melody that mingles in the spring.
The mountains are far and dark shadows upon the horizon.
Yet, little specks of color like splashes of paint, glitter in the valley below.
Although small and fragile, each its own sacred life, it too will become part of the cycle.
The giant Nordic gods of the horizon will always loom, watching each flower spring anew.
Though daunting and intimidating, the mountains will always protect the little colored specks.
For the mountains too are part of the cycle, a bridge a crossing, a cool embrace.
A mother and her children, a sacred bond of the highest order.
A mother may live long and care with all her might, yet a child may still wilt and leave life.
Although the heart may become cold and bitter, it will wait.
For in the next few season, she knows, once more her children will be reborn.
And that is the cycle, the thing called life.
Some things are constant, never ending, eternal guardians.
While others may live long and fade and die.
But no matter what the case or cause, it is for sure.
Life is a sacred thing, fragile and unique, it will repeat, a cycle older than the stars, and each we all accept this fate.
A word for the wise, a tale told to thee.
When you feel that cool breeze with a swish and bend of the trees.
Look to the sky and to the seas, each roaring and raging at unease.
Look into that horizon and see not just the mountains, but what looms beneath.
Look below and look ahead, seem the both behold.
The scared bond and the treasure long sought.
Mother and child one with another.
One unyielding one distant in thought.
This, that you see, is simple, it is and shall always be,
Life.~