The Beauty of Life


 
The beauty of life
depends on how much
you can let yourself free,
from the colored glass cases.
And leave others too, to the rain,
to the open fields, like birds flocking high.

 
See the earth in you
Expand to hold the green
See the rain on the mountains
Shading hues of green on your chest
Rivers, fresh tears gather polluted desire
To become the unexpected swirls of the sea.

 
Find a spot from where you can see the setting sky
and the infinite city, like a distant mirage
The red robe becomes your wings
as you fly down. Not a kite
looking for its food, but
you are a seagull
in search of
its sea.

 
The fall is not a metaphor, or of Icarus
But the celebration of wind
in your lungs, and the
lightness of your
fingers, across
your heart.



 

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