Flowers Are...

 

A Tender Wolf of Lily

 

Oh, what a lady you are —

Born a Juliet of summer songs,

Soft with silk dreams,

And golden promises.

But life raised you,

To become Cleopatra of your own.

To not believe in forevers,

But create your own existence.

Oh! What a pretty sight

When everything fell apart.

Only for you to survive

And live in embers.

To warm your hands

To create a kingdom,

Where cold 

Could never seeped through.

You befriended the winter,

So it's frost cannot bite you.

The snow became your shield,

The wind became your bow.

And oh! What a pretty sight!

Of a lady you've become.

From princess to warrior,

From armour to crown.

The Grind

To grind is to labor in the quiet.

For within the pressure and the turning,

Against the weight of resistance,

Is when friction becomes refinement.

To be polished to awaken the senses,

Softening the morning,

As aroma arises,

To breath out richness.

 

 But Life was never meant

To be always at the center of the stage,

Beneath blinding lights,

And rehearsed applause.

More often,

It is about shining behind the spotlight. 

For who needs artificial light,

When you're glowing from the inside.

Of Mundane Things and Sweet Nothings

 For life is about mundane things that we turn into sweet nothings.

Memoirs of Rainy Days

 There is something beautiful after the rain.

Maybe the scent...

The petrichor that lingers after the waters from heaven touched the earth.

Or maybe the colors...

The blue and gray that defies the yellow.

Or maybe those little drops...

That still holding on to something,

 Defying the fall...

Until they just become mist, 

Never touching the ground.

Captured in Motion

But Life moves in gentle tides,
Drifting forward then pulling back again.
Time keeps its quiet rhythm,
Never slowing, never waiting.

The Altar Where No One Waited

 But I have a secret

That's keeping me still.

I was always dancing with my demon,

I created to protect me.

And all the while 

The waltz was reverent,

candlelit and quiet,

Beautiful I suggest.

I did not feel the hours bleeding out,

Did not hear time rattling its chains.

It fed on hours,

It drank my days dry.

The walls consecrated for my safety,

Learned how to whisper my name.

Stone by stone, 

I called protection,

Became a chamber of absence,

An empty fortress,

A cold sanctuary 

Preserving my loneliness.

There were moments

I mistook it for peace,

And called it happiness.

But that peace was only silence,

Wearing a halo.

For no one stays long enough

To leave a sound behind.

Because no one else waited for me,

At the altar.

And everytime happiness knocks on the door,

My demon would answer first.

Offering me bargains I could never afford.

Proposing contracts written in ash,

Prices etched in blood.

So I sold my happiness again and again.

For debts I never finished paying,

Because I owned nothing.

So all the love I could not receive

Was tithed for protection.

A god I invented

To survive my prayers.

For solace I always thought 

I needed.

Like a saint offering 

Her faith for redemption.

And so I cried to the heavens

For deliverance.

But settled instead

For feigned sympathy.

I embraced artificial comfort,

False light, opiate tranquility.

To only found relief

In mid-spiral, mid-curse.

And so still I have a secret

That's keeping me still.

I am still dancing with my demon,

I created to protect me.

 But there are Times when the answer

 just come right on time... 

That's a bit too much to call it a coincidence. 

And Too exact not to think of it as a miracle.