By RACHELL CHON
Let me ask if you have ever been in a place so tranquil,
That even the faintest noise is enveloped by the sound of nature;
The only things you see are the clouds that float still
In a an enormous blue sky that changes shade after every hour.
Every second passes with ease, every breath is your will.
Should I ask if you have closed your eyes on a dirt road,
Where the earth is tinted to its true color and the only shadows
That tower over you are from the lean pine trees that bode:
“You will grow tired from it all. Rest.”
Every whisper lightens your corpulent load.
Do I need to ask if you truly are worn out
In the midst of this flawed world.
This life you live exists in a place too far from a source of good,
Surrounded by pollution and insatiable drought;
Instead, go away to the land not made of stone or glass,
A place where people are just alive,
Instead of battling to survive against immortal doubts.