Torn

I’m torn between two vicinities
Only one I walk on physically
The sun is weakened here
And I would be too watching all of this hustle
But hustle I can admire
Or at least understand
Standing still viewing the movement of people who all walk the same
Noticing they’re (their) all so different (motivations)
 
I find myself missing the air
Remembering the limp flow of the flowers
Flocks of petals that hover in the wind
Their attraction was powerful
So much so that men would pick them for themselves
My attempt to capture one failed
This gift was only good in its habitat
Technology detracts from beauty
My apparatus (packed with megapixels) was worthless
 
The flowers here are of a different culture
More seasoned with impurity
Painted with polluted rain water
Exposed to city fumes
Take a big whiff of this air
Isn’t it more enjoyable to exhale?
 
But there the world spun at a lesser pace
The sun stayed a while longer to gaze at the grass
Warming the corn into a respectable growth
Up there he’s got reason to stand above as long as he does
 
Here some days I stand for him
Letting him know his heat warms those who also need it most
At the place I call home

-Eric McCarty

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