[For the first time I think I'm posting up something I'm not sure I like myself. I had writing feelings for the longest time last night and they were struggling to take shape or form. This was the end result after QUITE a while, so any feedback at ALL (espc the not so good) would be loved.]
Chasing Bubbles
If it dies when it’s a bud
Does it count as a flower?
Do we mourn what it was,
Or what it could have been?
Should we chase after a breath of wind
Knowing it won’t be caught?
Do we do it anyway,
And say it was about the chase?
Perhaps its like chasing bubbles
In the sunlight as they float
Just out of reach
Close enough for hope
And get breathless
And angry
But then finally touch one
And smile
And so count them as flowers
And say it’s the chase
But get tired
And breathless
For a minute just sit on the grass
And watch everyone
Chase bubbles
And wonder
If you should join them again.
Chasing Bubbles
If it dies when it’s a bud
Does it count as a flower?
Do we mourn what it was,
Or what it could have been?
Should we chase after a breath of wind
Knowing it won’t be caught?
Do we do it anyway,
And say it was about the chase?
Perhaps its like chasing bubbles
In the sunlight as they float
Just out of reach
Close enough for hope
And get breathless
And angry
But then finally touch one
And smile
And so count them as flowers
And say it’s the chase
But get tired
And breathless
For a minute just sit on the grass
And watch everyone
Chase bubbles
And wonder
If you should join them again.
Comments