The Painted Wild flower
By Jeromy Chadwick
Engl. Comp 2
Nothing blows with the wind like your luscious petals; strains of age span the blistering gaps of emptiness, correlating the channels and dividing your blossoms. Swirling colors of beautiful reds and eccentric whites entwine with the gloom shades of green in which you portray to my eyes. As if sculpting your body could truly ever encapsulate your magnificent wonders, my eyes fool my brain. From a moments touch, your beauty will last century’s to engage in your timeless exhibit of natures spectacle. Hard not to be fooled by the harsh environment you’ve tamed; a throne sitter of the pasture. Your beauty brings me to a realm in between our world and yours, sandwiched between the existence of time and eternal life. A World incorporating the anatomy of your creator’s accomplishments and contrast the illusions of reality. A place found in your imagination away from your senses. This place; made for causes beyond the normal, a place for the great to cease in perpetuity. Within each thorn you behold a dagger of enchanting poison. What a mesmerizing fallacy held by the coexistence of beauty. Such dangerous weapons are hidden behind delightful curves and magnificent colors, outlining concealed perfection from every angle. Tiny brushstrokes and splatters of paint complete your canvas. Looked upon by admired eyes; your portrait hangs upon the wall, like a window into nature’s complexion. Nearly impossible not to stare at you, yet morals and manners seem naturally nonexistence in your presence. Formalities of silent unconditional rules begin to bond between us, such inner depths into the souls of our existence; a covenant between the different. What harsh experiences of nature’s brutal environment you’ve handled. I begin to wonder that these moments in time brought you to this place, at this exact moment. The irony to acknowledge times hand in your timeless existence. Yet perhaps I come to realize you...
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