The grass is always greener

Green, green is what I desire.

They tell me that green is what I need to get.

Green is where I feel good.

Yet where I stand I see the brown, so close to me, so detailed the edges of decay.

I stare at the fault of the grass on which I stomp on.  The grass that bares the weight of me everyday.

As I lift myself on the strength of a tiny blade, I look over the fence and see another yard so green, so lush, so much better than the grass I that bares my weight.

I spend my days looking at the other yard, I spend my days looking at what I don't have.

Each day, every hour, longing for what I think is better for me.

Each day, every hour neglecting the yard that I hold.

Is the sight of the grass in the distance greener because of where I look, because I don't even tend to my lawn.

As the yard that I hold, that I starve, that I don't water and neglect lends itself to decay. I begin to despise it, to judge why my dried up lawn doesn't look as green as the other yard.

I can't help notice how wonderful the other yard looks, how bright and green it compares to the brown broken lawn on which I stand.

Another yard, another pasture, another place to stand and hover, stomp on and look over to another fence.