Dandelion In The Wind

Wishing to fly,

Now more than ever,

I see the world

Pass before my eyes,

Slow, like being drowned in quicksand.

Wishing to be nothing,

But a Dandelion in the wind,

Having no ties to keep me so deep in this mud,

This mud that sinks into the soles of my feet,

Making them dark and bitter,

Forcing them to stand still,

While the clouds laugh at them so cruelly,

Raining just to see them sink deeper,

Into that brown dirt.

I watch my feet sink beneath that mud,

And scold the clouds and their jesting ways

For making me want

Something more than this.

I always thought

That Dandelions were weeds,

Growing unwanted,

Growing so wildly,

But they are trapped in a pod,

And pray for the wind

To blow on them gently,

So that they can fly into those jesting clouds,

Far from the pod,

Far from the dirt.

I watch them float by me,

And they seem to ask,

Why haven't you prayed to the wind?,

Why haven't you flown into the jesting clouds?

And all I can do is watch,

As the world runs by a clock's hand,

And the clouds rain on the dirt,

Keeping the mud from letting me go

Now crawling up to my calves,

My thighs,

My throat,

Drowning me into its quicksand,

So painstaking,

Slow.

Asking the wind as I drown,

Why not me too?