(45) Bloom
She was young, only a bud.
Stretching far from the dirt.
Her sisters, high above the grass.
Dancing with the wind, they laugh
and play.
Watching the ascending flowers
stride towards the clouds.
The sky above is full of color.
Her sisters blossoming into
pinky-purple blooms.
Neighboring flowers open
petals of vivid color, too.
Oranges, reds, yellows,
and blues. All tuning to
Mothers' song; dancing,
singing, and listening
to her soft melodies.
The little bud watches them
make merry. Jealous, she pleads.
Hoping Mother will hear her
screams. Stretching her stem
as far as she can. Failing every
time.
Looking upward, gazing at them
touching euphoria; singing with nature
and basking in the sun.
She tears up, and ponders to herself —
"when will I, too, bloom and touch
this euphoria?"
YOU ARE READING
We're all (not) Okay - Poems
PoetryI'm not the best at poems or stories, but I use this as a coping method. It may not make sense to you, but it does to me. - I just made this to write when I'm feeling down, or just extremely sad. Maybe you can relate on some of them. Please note...
