...and then there are these flowers:
flush with fragility and coloring.
What if I could be them...
utterly mortal, yet dazzling?
What if I could bloom
with nothing to prove?
How would it be
to be like them;
perched on the tree
on a shimmering morning
so faultlessly sunny,
with the breeze...
caressing, ladylike...silky?
Can I be them?
What are the credentials
for homecoming?
or is it
a comprehensive lack of them?
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
...and then there are these flowers:
flush with fragility and coloring.
What if I could be them...
utterly mortal, yet dazzling?
What if I could bloom
with nothing to prove?
How would it be
to be like them;
perched on the tree
on a shimmering morning
so faultlessly sunny,
with the breeze...
caressing, ladylike...silky?
Can I be them?
What are the credentials
for homecoming?
or is it
a comprehensive lack of them?
Inspired by: The memory of and longing to be home, the true home that we have forgotten in our quest for extrinsic glitter. There are times we get glimpses of this home all of a sudden and we briefly realize that while the outer world needs us to prove our credentials to acquire its ephemeral objects, there are no such requirements to return to our sources, our true home.