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Blossoms
It's harmonic, how nature ages throughout the year...
Summer, with the world looking bright and green, glistening in the reflection of the sun. Merry and beaming with joy and energy, as everything around seems to be dancing in it's own trance!
Monsoon, with thunderclaps echoing, and the calmness drenched in chaos. Chaos, which may be raging as a stormy night, but is pretty nonetheless.
For we see the world fight. We see it fight through the havoc of the rain... And no matter the tempest, the world always survives.
Autumn, with nature withering for a bit, almost exhausted. Rust coloured leaves falling gently, as it seems the world is tired from all the fighting in the rain.
Tired of the battle it has led, tired of the drawn out life it has been given...
Tired, and giving up.
Winter, when the world seems dead. The same world which was lively and bumbling with joy suddenly quietened down. It's eerie... But it's still beautiful.
Death has it's own beauty, and even when nature sleeps, it's still mesmerising.
And then the world awakes.
Unravelling with the short lived cherry blossoms in the spring...
It's not sudden. The world doesn't jerk to life as if it had been trying to escape from a nightmare.
It's slow, heartfelt...
As if everything around us was taking it's time to heal with the buds slowly unfurling their petals.
It's unnoticeable, that's how slow it is, and no one even cares to see just how the world recovers.
It's only seen when the buds turn into flowers and the warmth of the world envelopes us... guiding us into the same cycle of summer, monsoon, autumn and winter all over again.
And then we're accepted into the embrace of the gentle blossoms.
I feel that's what humans are, in the end.
That's what we all go through, all the seasons.
No matter who you are, at some point in your life... you've lived through the carefree summer, you've lived through the battles of the rain, you've lived through the sleepy autumns, you've lived through the gloom of the winter.
And in the end, you blossom, stronger than before, more beautiful than before.
Then the cycle repeats... Over and over again.
Wistfully fragrant, fluttering ever so slightly, bringing joy to all those who see them. The blossoms, tinted with shades of white and pink are like us, they've lived through storms, they've fought, only to thrive.
And in the end... All of us bloom.
...
..
.
But what about those of us who don't?
Some flowers can't survive the storm, and are blown away. Others are plucked off. Some fall off too soon.
They all go unnoticed.
They're all trampled over, and are not even cared for.
The ones who don't have the strength to bloom, wither away like nothing...
What about them?
Will anyone notice them?
The lives which bloom and wither in ordinance, what would their fate be?
After all, the world shall only notice the ones in full bloom, the ones who have the most beauty...
If the northern wind and the sun treat everyone equally,
Why is it that some are left to rot away?
The withering flowers have been left all alone,
Bleeding, wounds decaying,
But they still keep on yearning for a future they can hold onto.
And that hope for the future, that we'll all get another chance... that's enough to keep us alive!
So what if we didn't blossom this spring? We'll fight again, we'll blossom next time...
And next time we bloom, all having fought their demons...
We, ourselves will be the witnesses to our beauty.
"Until the day this ordinary life is devoted,
Go on blossoming like crazy..."
~ Some song whose name I can't remember
( What did I just write?
#WritcoStoryPrompt119 )
© Alter Ego
Summer, with the world looking bright and green, glistening in the reflection of the sun. Merry and beaming with joy and energy, as everything around seems to be dancing in it's own trance!
Monsoon, with thunderclaps echoing, and the calmness drenched in chaos. Chaos, which may be raging as a stormy night, but is pretty nonetheless.
For we see the world fight. We see it fight through the havoc of the rain... And no matter the tempest, the world always survives.
Autumn, with nature withering for a bit, almost exhausted. Rust coloured leaves falling gently, as it seems the world is tired from all the fighting in the rain.
Tired of the battle it has led, tired of the drawn out life it has been given...
Tired, and giving up.
Winter, when the world seems dead. The same world which was lively and bumbling with joy suddenly quietened down. It's eerie... But it's still beautiful.
Death has it's own beauty, and even when nature sleeps, it's still mesmerising.
And then the world awakes.
Unravelling with the short lived cherry blossoms in the spring...
It's not sudden. The world doesn't jerk to life as if it had been trying to escape from a nightmare.
It's slow, heartfelt...
As if everything around us was taking it's time to heal with the buds slowly unfurling their petals.
It's unnoticeable, that's how slow it is, and no one even cares to see just how the world recovers.
It's only seen when the buds turn into flowers and the warmth of the world envelopes us... guiding us into the same cycle of summer, monsoon, autumn and winter all over again.
And then we're accepted into the embrace of the gentle blossoms.
I feel that's what humans are, in the end.
That's what we all go through, all the seasons.
No matter who you are, at some point in your life... you've lived through the carefree summer, you've lived through the battles of the rain, you've lived through the sleepy autumns, you've lived through the gloom of the winter.
And in the end, you blossom, stronger than before, more beautiful than before.
Then the cycle repeats... Over and over again.
Wistfully fragrant, fluttering ever so slightly, bringing joy to all those who see them. The blossoms, tinted with shades of white and pink are like us, they've lived through storms, they've fought, only to thrive.
And in the end... All of us bloom.
...
..
.
But what about those of us who don't?
Some flowers can't survive the storm, and are blown away. Others are plucked off. Some fall off too soon.
They all go unnoticed.
They're all trampled over, and are not even cared for.
The ones who don't have the strength to bloom, wither away like nothing...
What about them?
Will anyone notice them?
The lives which bloom and wither in ordinance, what would their fate be?
After all, the world shall only notice the ones in full bloom, the ones who have the most beauty...
If the northern wind and the sun treat everyone equally,
Why is it that some are left to rot away?
The withering flowers have been left all alone,
Bleeding, wounds decaying,
But they still keep on yearning for a future they can hold onto.
And that hope for the future, that we'll all get another chance... that's enough to keep us alive!
So what if we didn't blossom this spring? We'll fight again, we'll blossom next time...
And next time we bloom, all having fought their demons...
We, ourselves will be the witnesses to our beauty.
"Until the day this ordinary life is devoted,
Go on blossoming like crazy..."
~ Some song whose name I can't remember
( What did I just write?
#WritcoStoryPrompt119 )
© Alter Ego
