The World is a Garden

Fri, 08/26/2016 - 22:31 -- drashti

The world is a garden

Where the positives and negatives dwell.

Where beautiful things can happen;

where caterpillars morph into precious butterflies,

like an embryo morphs into a precious child.

Where seeds bloom into flowers

like thoughts bloom into solutions,

and solutions solve the problem,

making the world a better place...

unless... it’s a math problem.

Or a science problem.

But it’s practically the same thing because home turns into a better place

if the problem is solved,

just like a colony turns into a better place once the bee’s hard work

brings home the honey.

The world is a garden,

 

and with the good always comes the bad.

 

Slugs sluggishly slide along the street.

Scavenging the garden for soft wheat,

Like destitute families who can’t afford white meat.

Hoping to feed their families with not leftovers, but a treat.

Hoping that their heart will pump courage with every beat,

Courage to keep going and not accept defeat;

For trees stopped giving shade from the sun’s scorching heat;

Now they nest winged creatures known as the elite.

High up in the air while the slugs are beat,

Looking at poverty as a breeding ground with creatures they can cheat.

Oh these birds are like corrupt politicians,

And the slugs happen to be the paupers they mistreat.

But the positives in the garden still exist without question,

As they are the flowers that bloom in every direction.

Different colors, different shapes, different scents, and different traits,

 

Blooming freely,

Being admired for their unique beauty,

And not being judged for being different from the majority.

 

Only if the world treated people like flowers,

And embraced the uniqueness of each culture and body type

Rather than bombarding the group with ridiculous stereotypes.

 

But the bees of the garden can change this

With educated minds and large hearts that can give.

They can rid the world of discrimination and poverty,

Because the world will be in their hands soon.

 

It will be in your hands soon.

 

Your mind is a garden,

And your thoughts are seeds.

You can grow flowers,

Or you can grow weeds.

 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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