The sakura whispers
with the softness of first light,
but it burgeons,
as all brave hearts do,

it drapes its limbs
in the tender cradle of the breeze,
sending roots deep
to clutch the heart of the earth.

And when it blooms,
oh, how it blooms,
with the ferocity
of a love that refuses silence,

as if it alone
were chosen to guard
the fragile blush
of dawn,

its petals holding
the light,
infusing its essence
as it reaches for the sky,
yearning for the sun's warmth
and the rain's solace.

Sakura hesitates
in the moment before unfolding,
for it knows
that beauty unfolds in its own sacred time -

Life is a tender whisper
in the vastness,
and to blossom at all
is an act of divine grace.

And oh,
the season of oblivion
ascends like a thief,
swift, silent,
deadly.

a breath in the vast emptiness,
a universe yawning wide
to devour every decibel
a void wide open
engulfing every sound.

And in my dreams, I swear,
your laughter was a revolution,
the earth halted its hustle,
and in that fleeting heartbeat,
there was laughter,
there was a ceasefire,
and we were its sanctuary.

And when I woke,
your absence was a canyon,
a shadow once more,
I fought for air,
fingers trembling for solidity.

I faced my shadows,
whispered, "Not now, not now,"
and cast them further into the abyss.

I anchored myself to this planet,
stood, knees quaking like fault lines.
I moved,
with a heart dense as a dying star,
and I stumbled into oblivion,
oblivion,
oblivion,

conceding that all we've amassed in the end,
signified
nothing after all.

Hello, my friend,

They say life's what you make it
But I swear, sometimes it feels like
Life's nothing more than a canvas
Painted by every heartache and heartbreak.

You've got these hands that shake like earthquakes,
And a heart that's been through wars
More times than you care to count.

And you don't know if you're a mess or a masterpiece,
'Cause every stroke on this canvas
Feels like it's come from someplace else.

You've got treasures buried deep inside you,
But sometimes they may feel like gilded garbage,
And you can't tell which is which.

You've been to the bottom of the well,
And you've looked the devil in the eye,
And you've come back with nothing but your poetry,
And the rhythm of your aching heart.

Sometimes, my friend, you wonder if you're anything
But depression, and a lifetime of grief,
And you don't know what sets you apart
From the agony that surrounds you.

But even when the strongest souls
Start to lose their fight,
You're still here, reaching for the light.

So if this life is what defines you, then let it be known
That you are a survivor, a warrior, a force to be reckoned with.
You are the sum of every joy and every pain,
And every moment that has brought you here today.

And when the darkness threatens to consume you,
Remember that you are not alone,
For your poetry and your heartbeat
Resonate with so many others who have fought this battle too.

And even though the road ahead may be uncertain,
Take comfort in the fact that you are not your sadness,
You are not your suffering, you are not your mistakes.

You are a masterpiece in progress,
A work of art that is still unfolding,
And your story, your voice, your heart
Are all essential parts of the beauty that is you.

So keep going, my friend,
Keep fighting, keep creating, keep living,
And know that no matter what comes your way,
You are loved, you are valued, and you are enough.

Today, I tended to my tulips,
Uncertain if they would bloom,
Once, I planted their bulbs with care,
But now, with labor, I presume.

When I was healthy and whole,
I sowed these seeds with grace,
When I could rise from bed with ease,
And greet the morning's face.

Not truly happy, but somewhat better,
I watched them grow with care,
Their petals the color of the sunset's ember,
Or the golden sun's fiery glare.

Instead of my apathy,
I must write with a softer hue,
Perhaps this is a new beginning,
Or an old one, anew.

I strive to be strong and sound,
Ate breakfast and took a walk,
Though the battle within still goes around,
And my arms remain locked.

The urge to harm myself, a foe,
But my tulips may yet bloom,
Perhaps this means I can let go,
And let old wounds resume.

I fear to reveal hidden scars,
But today, I tended with my all,
My tulips that I thought might falter,
Perhaps I can again stand tall.

Tick-tock, time flows,
And winter, soon departing goes,
Or has it gone, already flown?
Tick-tock, time marches on.

But I, I've lingered long,
Like a statue, not so strong.
All bones and skin and agony,
Pouring into itself constantly.

Sleep eludes my weary soul,
But worse, I've forgotten my role,
Lost the penance I swore to keep,
Left alone with a cost too steep.

My soul, not worried, but I'm concerned,
For the price of redemption to be earned
Is insurmountable, so high,
The greatest suffering, nigh.

Tick-tock, time moves on,
Soon I'll be gone, long withdrawn,
And none will notice, I've disappeared,
For I, never belonged here.

And, oh, this heart
Bears an abundance of sorrow,
While my soul is left
With pockets barren and void.

But, alas, that proved our undoing, my love.
When the hour arrived to bid you farewell,
And consign you to an earthen crypt,
I could not bring myself to release you.

And so, I descended to the underworld,
Where I offered my soul to the grim reaper,
In exchange for a reprieve from your loss.
He accepted my offering without a second thought,
Devouring my essence whole, without a shred of mercy.

Yet, through it all, I felt not a single twinge of pain.
For the agony of losing you was far greater,
Than any torment, the reaper could inflict upon me.