"Polish me smooth," it cries,
"No more jagged edges." it yearns.
My colors change, I am a deep red,
Expressed in gentle breezes, yet still unsettled.
Let the melancholy wash over me and settle back, out, too far to reach again.
I will soak into dry land.
May I rustle among the grass and be calmed by the atmosphere of being silent,
but only silent in the uncertain and indecisive qualities I possess.
Because I wish to shine with a vibrant honesty.
My soul excavates a site into the ground where its roots will spread amongst the weeds of all that seems to go wrong in an instance.
"Consider me nothing," it cries,
"No more uneasy footing." it yearns.
But the lowest of the low, back out to find that in the lack of purpose all is well because they are alive.
"Consider me a ray of sunshine," the lost once cry,
"That I may entwine my comfort within the strands of hair of your weary conscience."
I am the bold evening of an obstructive path.
Bumpy, long, and with no general direction, my tracks leave a faint indent to a misguided traveler.
Like the moon as it shares a sunlit sky, I am the distant image of content inside the setting of a retired sun.
And as the hues of red fade into a dark horizon, the hope of my return is instant.
and I fail to disappoint.
"Let me embody the grace of love," I cry,
"No more destruction within myself." I yearn.