Faded yellows, reds turning to Browns, pedals collapsing for each breath we take. Even wilted flowers were once beautiful. For no matter how much they shrink, or crumble they never fully disappear. Their remains still lay scattered on the ground we walk. They go where the wind destines them. Willingly. Unlike us. Refusing to even see that anything is destined for us. Those flowers..waited an entire lifetime to find their place in this world. Why are we so sure that we don't have one?
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My Constellation of Poems ⭐️
PoetryWe ourselves are a lot like stars. We look around and see that we are surrounded by others. Millions. We are no different. You see, but we don't realize our ability to shine bright, or that a child may be looking out their window wishing upon us. We...
