Wildflowers

Wildflowers

I wish everyone knew that 

you don't have to be good,

you don't even have to be great,

to be alive.

And neither do you have to repent,

kneeling there on broken glass,

for the imaginary sins 

that come with being. 

Here on this earth, 

you only need to exist to let

your hopeful, hopeless heart love.

And as you tear yourself apart

fiber by fiber, 

for simply being human, 

know that somewhere,

 in a grassy clearing

by the side of a desolate road, 

there are wildflowers. 

Thousands upon thousands of them, 

blooming through storm and sunshine, 

living simply because they were blessed with life.

As you struggle to find yourself,

know that the world still goes on.

The clouds keep travelling 

their lonely route over

valleys and rivers and mountaintops.

The waves keep rising and falling

in harmony with the moon,

Lulling boats to sleep every night. 

The sun keeps bringing light

to fields and forests,

to cities and towns,

to you and me.

And all throughout

this messy, broken world,

the wildflowers keep blooming.

In those forgotten beauties, I see you,

Flimsy and wilted and lovely all the same.