She walks to the end
of dark uncurling days
at the edge of the earth,
witnesses the new day
split open–
petals soft,
beautiful.
She’d give it to herself
could it be contained,
arranged within some vase,
held within her hands,
that cannot hold
such flowering strength.
She breathes in hope,
taking it deep into her lungs
where oxygen mingles
with blood and becomes one—
a seed took root in the moment
as all things familiar to her die.
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A wonderfully soft poem speaking the truth. Well done.
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Thank you
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A beautiful scene you have described here. I especially love the opening lines:
“She walks to the end
of dark uncurling days”
🙂
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Thank you
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