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The Sun's Flower

A field of sunflowers open to the skies Will be stroked and persuaded by the wind. Though tame intentions can be overwhelmed When the zephyr no longer sings but shouts And berates the crops with a prevailing shroud Of gusts and gales that grab their thornless stems, Thrashing their heads, Scattering their seeds in a whirlwind That only pulls outwards and away To an uncomfortable familiarity in foreign soil There the seeds can fester and Root into unwanted ground, Still forced by the breeze As they are cultivated, As air continues to pound, As they still all face to the sun with a hope that gets carried by the wind Until the air becomes still. And the air… Becomes still. The golden expanse shines back to the sun it longs for; Enormity has split its charm across the fields. Unable to concentrate its sentiments, It refracts across a million seeds. But now the air lacks turmoil, And the accretion can focus on warmth, Collecting its troubles and finding stable earth Until a flower shines out of the swarm. This single sunflower, reserved for the sun Will be nourished and cared for by its light, The fields adjacent will always be waiting But the sky will soon fall to night. --Matthew Godfrey


Follow Matthew's Instagram: @astridyahn_author

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