I plead and prod
For the answers to your hurt.
I wait, which is to say I wilt.
A surge of depleting pain defeats my mood.
Here I am, broken hereafter.
But I am an infinite source
Of love, energy, and virtue.
I always have more to give;
I rebuild and replenish to no acknowledgment
Except for within.
Rain is my succor—
Supplying my entangled roots with life.
I sift and sort through the mess
And eventually, enliven to a fresh free spirit;
Healing is courage.
I leave, and linger in my zeal—
There is so much more for me here.
Now onto the next
As if my intention stood resolved.
I bent in your grasp until I broke—
Shattered once more, mirroring a million
fragments tarnished, maimed, and lost,
A remnant of the self.
In solitude, I planted,
The lone dandelion wishing to be plucked.
Vision gradually unveils itself in regenerative growth;
There I am, a waiting wish.
Healing is forgiveness.
Now, grazed upon once more—
I am bundled in a heaping pile of promise,
Perfect poppies dressed in a bow.
It’s only a matter of time before they
Burst in a flooding display of fancy while
Beautifully decaying pansies
Fan my gaping wound.
Battered and bleeding I ache,
But this time, I am bolstered
With poise and prowess, proud.
In a lovely field I stand,
The weeds uprooted around me—long gone.
I am left to prevail in sanguinity,
In cheerful brightness assured.
Never lacking, but at ease of elation.
I look forward through the breaks and bruises
Right on rhythm, hitting every beat.
Wind blows in a whirling rush,
Light shifts through the wavering clouds
Like an inkling sign of hope;
Healing is gratitude—
This too shall pass.
For I, budding, bloom.
