Geraniums are hidden.
But they are also seen.
Violet, crimson, and white.
Melancholy
    But suffused with life.
My tears do not wilt their petals.
Instead, they thrive.

Is this a holding pattern?
A ship looking for the beacon.
The spray, foam, and clouds will
sparingly distort its purview.
But it is not lost.

Berries fall against my shoulder,
while leaves lay against my feet.
The breeze rustles my hair?
yet the bird is not disturbed.
It is not lost.

Am I abandoned?
Or did I leave?
Am I the pariah?
What am I?

The trees of the field will clap their hands.
This is according to the Prophet.
Verdant pleasures provide reprieve.
Man is removed from the natural world.
Branches provide conversation.
Leaves provide shade.
Even the mud provides comfort.

Our castles provide false hope.
Our comtemporairies foolish wisdom.

I crave the unfamiliar, while simultaneously dreading it. Excitement but with apprehension. The familiar is not mundane, instead it is comforting. Comfort does not equate with weakness. It is love.

I want to go back to Mary and Jay's living room. Chicken nuggets, ranch dressing, and Coke in a glass. I remember that night Brian and I played Gamecube while I had an asthma attack. I could hardly breath but was as happy as I had ever been.

My life is a product of grace and benevolence. I've come to expect it in others, which is a mistake. It is something I should provide. Besides my needless prejudices, I convey selfishness. This is misguided. I was born with a wreath of flowers in my hair and a bouquet in my hands. The God of Love smiled upon me. This much I should return in kind.