Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
Wildflower, grow,
Don’t hold yourself back,
Let your self-empowerment be
A light
That brightens your path
And know it is also an inspiration
For others along their way;
Be a pollinator, wildflower
Of Pride, in self,
Pride in who you are,
Not just what you have done;
As a flower that grew up past concrete,
You are first and foremost
A seemly impossible miracle
That is,
As a living being,
Treat your petals gently, wildflower
And be unafraid
To bloom.
Night is falling in too soon,
Suddenly,
Too soon,
The wind abruptly lifted from our lungs as we watch,
And recognize,
Too soon,
The good and sweet we recall of you,
Knowing this is too soon,
For the life that is yours to be removed from ours,
Tears they fall,
Or tears they stall,
As disbelief sets in,
We look to the great beyond
Wondering what resides there,
For you,
For each of us,
Demanding why,
Of Spirit we still long to know,
Long to understand,
If there is a why in the divine,
And what that is,
We demand to know,
For why do the sweet, the young, the innocent, the good need to go,
And in unideal manners,
And why should and do the good die young,
This is penance for those who remain,
To watch as you go,
We cry,
As weeping bodies,
Our sacrificial gift for one we love,
You are slipping into the greater existence now,
in and around us
Joining with spirit,
We will mourn your corporeal existence,
But aim to know you on an entirely new plane,
Just as you will come to be,
May we know you more,
In memory,
Then we ever imagined of possibility.
Keep me at center,
Where I may be pulled evenly,
Joined by outstretched hands,
By others who see me,
Others who will come to know
The me I am coming to be,
Who will help nurture,
The spiral traveling,
The soul at center,
To center;
Centered.
In bits and pieces,
I am finding myself
in whole,
I was not lost,
I was, I am
in process,
Now peaking out new,
Vibrant crocus
pushing up through cold snow,
Whole me is a flower
in the process of budding
through full bloom,
I will guard this treasure,
And not let it’s appearance be shamed,
My self in bloom is beauty
in rare, raw form
fragile,
and yet miraculous in strength
bending independently toward the light,
knowingly drinking the mana of life waters,
feeding for knowledge,
preparing for
the continual, eternal
blossoming toward wholeness
She of Letters 