crawl.
crawl until
these flowers
see the
sunlight
and bloom.
let the bees
take their
pollen
and make
honey.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
bloom
crawl.
crawl until
these flowers
see the
sunlight
and bloom.
let the bees
take their
pollen
and make
honey.
