The Dandelion Messenger.

Poem Prompt: Someone made a wish on a dandelion. They blew on the flower, scattering the puffs of seeds.

Where does the dandelion puff go?

What does it see? What is the secret wish of its own? (prompt by @meharker on tumblr)

In a soft blow, I float far elsewhere,

Holding hopes that heavens will be fair,

How this person put their hands in mine,

And slipped me their trust with a loose deadline.

Their sweet dreams are like a pristine present,

The most optimistic thing I have sent,

I’ll give this to the universe with care,

So this being’s foretold joy will be there.

I love when ones of the world,

With their lips and fingers curled,

Rely and utilize me,

To solve their poor tragedies,

Though it slightly withers me,

That I only send their pleas,

Leaving work to the divine,

And I fall into green or brine.

I am a useful tool,

Carrying the world’s pool,

Of begs and pleas,

I can not dry or freeze,

And maybe my hands and press,

Would speed up the wait, process,

Brightening the world’s days quick,

And all life is not once sick.

But I know the above wouldn’t let me;

I will stay stuck as a throw-away key,

I now go to the heavens, leaving the lands,

Then the sanguine wish is gone from my hands.