What do you do with dead flowers? which had so many powers, so many hours ago. They bloomed once in your gloom, but petals and scent are dry and gone, cry over colors that once shone, like dying lovers which embrace no longer meant it, pull the covers tight around you, pretend you dreamt it, the flowers again surround you and extend, the beds of flowers are on the mend, lay on the bed which does not shed lies, be born again, and arise, the ground is fertile and vast, rays of light exist, not overcast with mist like today. Don't dwell over dead flowers and keep doubt at bay. Cut off their heads, and walk away. Others will grow, soon you will know, and gardens of greatness will never go.
No comments:
Post a Comment