Forgotten Flowers

Forgotten Flowers

The earth is made out of three main things.

The blue water, sparkling in the sunlight, promising sparks of delight, of hope, of dreams that reflect on the surface.

The grey stones that unevenly create the foundation of the ground we are standing on, promising safety, stability, creating some sort of bluntness.

And the green grass that covers this foundation, promising life, duration and evolvement.

The water is necessary for us to even exist, we are made out of water. It is the foundation of us, of life. So the water is a part of our daily affairs, always in the in the foreground, always consumed without even thinking about it. It is just how it is. It has always been there, is greatly appreciated by every living creature and dearly missed when it is not present. It is noticed.

Without the stones we would live in the wild, fighting for our survival and about the ressources, biting each others heads off, if someone dares to posess something first. It is possible to live without them in the end, but just like the water, they would be dearly missed. Every order would just disappear, the stable construct of our system breaking together, smashing into tiny pieces, firing them straight into our hearts, affecting us for a lifetime. Even though the rocks are a reckless factor rather than an emotional one, a necessary one, they are still wanted. They are noticed.

But the grass is one of those things that will always be different, no matter how hard it tries to fit in. It is superficial, covering the mistakes that the water and the stones made, having no deeper meaning than just simply existing. An no one questions it. They walk on it day by day, the fabric of the soles sinking into the light consistence of it, dogs shitting on it, and the humans that don't give a shit about that fact. It is there. It is useful. It is unnoticed.

So how lucky must the corals be that enjoy every ray of sunshine through the water, extending their beauty even further for people admiring them.

 How lucky must the algaes be, moving slowly in the life that surrounds them, doing their dance to attract. 

How lucky must the underwater fauna be, to be happily explored, to be fascinating to people. To be desired to expose more of them.

How lucky must all of them be to be in the center of attention, loved, cherished, appreciated. 

The lovely corals, the admirable algaes, the breathtaking underwater fauna.

Oh how fortunate the cristals must be, rusty and dusty at first sight, before they make people speechless after the first polish.

Oh how fortunate must the fossils be, hearing the excited murmur after they were found, getting the most careful treatment, being exhibited to show everyone how impressive they are.

Oh how fortunate the lava must be, people respecting it, making its own way to create new surroundings by its own, having the hot, god like power of creating and destroying at the same time.

Oh how fortunate must all of them be in the middle of the construct, holding it all together, the pieces that were shattered, glueing it to fix the broken, even if it cannot be fixed. Then it might as well tear down every little bit that is left, that is being clinged on to. Just to shine through the mess, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of the loss.

The splendid crystals, the craved fossils, the respected lava.

The unfortune comes with the unlucky trees, how they break when a storm hits them once again, crushing life beneath them, dying together in a thight embrace.

The unfortune comes with the unlucky bushes, that serve rather as a simple decoration or a spot to piss on, because they are simply existing. Just there.

The biggest unfortune comes with the unluckiest flowers, that are torn apart, murdered, while someone asks them for an oracle whether their crush loves them or not, that are layed down to mourn the dead, while there is not a care in the world, that they are ripped apart from their home, slowly giving up the light, while they follow the person under the cold stone, losing their beauty day by day, step by step growing to waste that no one wants or desires, so they are thrown away and it just goes on and on without a break.

Oh how the unfortunate and the unlucky ones must be to exist in a world where their pain is overseen, driven by madness and fixation on other beings, vanishing in the creeping cold of the ereased thoughts and hoping that one day they will be noticed.

The broken trees, the unloved bushes, the forgotten flowers.