by Victoria Bush

Her nose faced upward,
exhaling an air of arrogance that surrounded her like a thick fog.
Even though the country air tasted sweet,
and the ground felt soft, not yet trodden,
and the fragrance of the flowers filled the air
like the legato notes of a violin, seemingly infinite,
and the bright flowers stretching as far as the eye could see,
and the melodic silence,
she couldnít sense it, didnít care.
She had one mouth, two hands, one nose, two ears, and two eyes,
yet still couldnít marvel
at the beauty of one flower, in one field, in one world.
She thought she was in darkness but she just hadnít opened her eyes.
The eyes of the heart amaze one with a smile,
the slit through which one can see the light from within,
beaming out with such intensity that it explodes into laughter,
and the mango sunsets, disappearing over the horizon,
melting into the unknown.

Just then she inhaled the perfume of a particularly fragrant flower,
carried by the hopeful winds.

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Poem Copyright © 2012 by Victoria Bush


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