I could tell you of a story, of this flower that I saw.
Growing in a little crack, this flower had it all.
It's beauty got me thinking, how ****** we forget.
It isn't where we come from, it's that we never quit.
The struggles that this flower faced, no quiver nor a fall.
It rose above the chances,
through this crack that was so small.
The only will was life, and the chance that it may "be".
Exist in ways intended, and truly live as free.
This dandelions beauty, gives me the strength to know,
content with where I'm rooted, 
 and will to always grow.

Over casted skies, hughed faintly by these city lights,  
power lines and treetops, distract the view, but not quite.
Just enough to see, beyond houses and horizon,  
this sadly painted sky, it is not colored with the season.

I look into your eyes, there's a hint there's something not right,
eyeliner and makeup, slightly covers up the hindsight,
But thru it I can see,  beyond the smiles and the reason,
Its look inside your eyes, it's as though I do not please them.

Trees waving in the wind, changing course throughout the evening,
like the calm before a storm, mother natures heavy breathing.
Then rain begins to pour, ions crashing from the ground,
brightly lighting up the scene, with a devastating sound.

Words flying thru the air, given alternating meaning,
defensively we scorn, imply intentions so deceiving,
within we become torn, as hearts lost cannot be found,
why can't our love be free, without these tensions all around..

Dawn turns to morn, as the birds begin to sing,
And the night of the storm, had ended violently,
Branches and leafs scattered in the flooded field,
It's a night to remember, new beginnings can rebuild.