Inertia And Return

Sun Smells And Flower Heat

All different, yet alike in quiet needs,
Leaves reach toward the light with outstretched arms,
Taking their time while we rush through our deeds,
On our knees fast at any false alarms.  

Sometimes, seemingly dead, colors fading,
Dried, torn stems morphing into crisp texture, 
Often with a tiny green spot, nudging,
Water and wind are waiting to touch her.

Mortals, always testing nature's patience,
Griping at mountains of false certainties,
Unaware, stifling their own advancements,  
On this tiny blue dot with a few lillies.

Close to its last breath, wanting to return,
Smelling the sun with the heat of flowers,
Featherless phoenix not wanting to burn,
Feeling alive during the wee hours. 

Nature's force oft underestimated, 
Tested repeatedly, an endeavour, 
Reminder of our closed eyelids, weighted, 
Until our closed minds can feel the greater.