Garden

Fetal position,
Arms over my head.
Lying bare in the soil.
These flowers around me,
Caress my skin,
Stealing nourishment in their touch.
The soil is black earth beneath me,
Contrasted against my pale skin.
I open my eyes and see naught but blue,
Through the sea of green before me.
Desiring an answer to where I have come to be,
I mouth questions into the air.
Too much oxygen,
Not enough pollution,
This air is impossible to breathe.
It’s too pure for me.
Even the most noble of actions,
Cannot be made from me.
I am a child,
A child of the Earth,
Born and raised with the land.
It is me, and I am it.
Formed together as one.
This garden is my hopes,
My dreams,
My entity.
I live in and through it.
But I cannot step outside,
For the vines have grasped my feet.
Holding me in this prison.
I have everything I need,
All mercy, joy, and happiness,
Yet,
I will leave someday.
My teeth shall gnash these vines,
Binding me to this existence.
And I will be free.
I will not live but rather exist.
Lost without the snare of reality.
Holding the world in my gaze,
Finally able to absorb it.
I stand in bold admiration,
Of the creation to which I am part.
But I no longer wish to do anything,
Save admire.
For in this existence,
I want no part.

Garden

Linc Brown

Kimball, United States

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