Amongst The Vines (Or Croatia) Poem by Lauren Kapusta

Green, green, green...
Almost a paradise on Earth.
Birds chirp, nature's chorus.
Flies annoyingly buzz around my head.
A breeze stirs the leaves.
I sit upon wood and write this.
A rooster crows.
Cats stalk amongst rows.
Something walks in tall grass.
The perfect sound of tranqulity...
No voices.
No engines.
No annoyance, yet only in the mind.
It makes you think you're the only one.
The vines that produce drink are,
So quiet.
They bask in the hot sun, ripening.
Their fruit is as green as the hills.
Yet I yearn for home.
I miss my abode across the blue.
My comfort zone obscenely breached.
Strangers greet me and beckon me,
To join them.
I am of their blood but not their tongue.
My vocal cords erode.
But at least the language in my,
Hear persists strongly.
I write amongst the vines and close,
My eyes and say it is bittersweet.