that black rose
in the middle of your chest
the gardener did not forget
just that neither the sun
nor the rain nor the clouds
nor the wind nor the earth
are what paints it red
the life in you,
young flower,
is a gift of Heaven...
and then you die
as all of our days are numbered.
but then again
by power of spirit, of faith,
the love that surrounds you
pouring out from strangers, from family, from friends,
will breathe in you a new life
that never before have you imagined.
out of the tears you shed
watch your pollens spread
and by wisdom gained
watch yourself blossoming again.
and by wisdom gained
remember who is the wiser
the butterfly who fluttered
or the bee who busily worked.>>posted for jeren <<
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