I don't
understand why
my mind
drifts to thoughts
of you, in the
spring when I'm
alone in the woods.
The dew is on the
grass, and the small
flowers begin to
bud, the petals
slippery and wet,
glistening in the
morning
sun.
The birds sing
their symphonies of
praise, and the trees,
***** and strong, reach
to the waiting sky.
The rain shoots
down, and I
rest.

The pressure to create constantly
makes those creations feel disposable

Pristine waters along the new morning
Eating away at the shore’s lips
Licking the grains of sand that stray
Into the dark ocean
Crystals of colour floating in the sea
Aligning upon foamy waves
Never unmoving, forever free