The Alien

By

Valeria Munoz

I watch the surrounding seeds
Destined to blow away in the unsheltered wind
Until their own flowers grow are called weeds

Later a witness to upheaval, my senses became dimmed
While roots my own grew the environment impedes
Yet still I continue, repaying to my parent a debt

The journey along the wind lead only to where most others concede
The soil is dry, as my lip nearly bleeds
Yet merely feet away, there is another, not a weed
But the ice plant, tough, flowerless, and low.
Although just as alien as I, they thrive all the same
Maintaining healthy soil, survival, and happiness the aim.

I learn from my surroundings, that nothing is permanent
Changes are made whether of my volition or not, ignoring as she pleads
The past is washed away only by choice, likewise to torment

Some issues solve as naturally as time, so to cleanse the sky wept
With a renewal of mind, I felt the first leaf spreads
And flowers formerly of nutrients bereft

Thus the cycle continues, the habitat succeeds
But not all is allowed, of happiness there is theft
And the seeds, bulbs of hope, benefit from my petals fatigues

There is beauty in their death, old memories away kept
As the new proceeds
Although still alien, at adapting I am adept

My roots are set, even as weeds
Previously on my own worth I slept
But with time the life I make is all the mind needs