I've seen you before. Probably in a dream or a piece of me remembering you from the beginning of creation.
A star split in two and placed between flesh and bones. That's the twinkle, how they do at dusk. And by the cosmos who wield such great power, brought me to you like nature.
Seedling. You were when we met. And oblivious to the stunted growth. But it was because of your delayed extension, you were able to appreciate soil. Foundation.
How beautiful is it to grow and know your roots.
I waited patiently to see how your petals would form, eager for the kaleidoscope of colors I knew would burst.
But no one else saw, the sun rays had penetrated your being. A fire coursing through like rage does veins.
And still they saw a budding seed filled with beauty. But didn't care to see the fire.
Although they felt heat exhaust from your stems: you outstretched them like hands to God, like child to mother, like flower to sky and exchanged smiles unknowingly.
You reached in urgency and instead, they gave you showers. They gave you rain fall and a season of dusk.
And still as you cowered and it flooded you. Sun beaming down to dry you out. Thunder rippling the earth and drops of tears drowning you away. You remained intact.
I observed. I inquired. I prayed.
What once started as a journey to obtain and pluck you from the ground to admire you for my own vase...then turned into a sense of protection.
I wanted to build you a temple. Around you, surrounding you: to protect you from the curious eye and the jagged fingers. I wanted them to know who they were stepping before.
How they were about to lay eyes on a flower that shouldn't have survived the winter. The fire.
I admired watching each season pass and new colors sprouting from your petals.
And now, just as a season is about to end, I weep joyously.
Because you no longer need the temple. Nor do you need protection from rain or sun.
You announce yourself before any season, any temple, any oblivious eye.
And now I know why man created songs for God.
Now I know why God celebrates his creation.
I know why He gave us language and tongue. Because there should be a million other ways to express beauty. To express love.
And I'd dip and drink from the fountain of youth to live forever and memorize and decipher each tongue just to keep you a garden.
I would plant and uproot and plant again just to see the foundation flourish.
Give the pen ink.
Give the child a chance.
And I speak of this thoughtfully and with no ill will.
So I leave you my garden. I leave you what's left of the soil.
I leave what I have created: to you.
Because it takes being broken down into a million piece, it takes feeling the heat of hells fire to appreciate growth, life and creation.
You've grown from the seedling you were and surpassed as us all.
Flower recognizes soil and in another life, we might've planted together. And maybe in the next one, we'll wither together as well.
And she is why flowers' bloom in the spring
Why Aprils' rain, births beauty that May brings.
