Beginning like a little egg, soon to hatch into a butterfly
we search for the way of the butterfly,
starting from the lowest phase slowly reaching the skies.

Butterflies are like us, they cannot see the elegance in their wings,
but everyone else sees their glorious emergence
in the likeness of winter to spring.

Like a bridge connecting two energies,
one is water and the other is fire.
Both form a steam,
two in one are gathered to roam around,
with the sun above drowning them in a stream of unity.

Rainbow arises, butterflies absorb its colors
spreading its waves across in every life,
foaming the surface in flowers.

We search for the way of the butterfly
that reaches the dawn of another day.

Night flower blossoming
Beneath the summer sky
Petal parasols unfurling
Throughout June and July

She was born under the moon
Nocturnal butterfly
Pollinated by pale moths
To live one day then die

Moonflower blooms in warmth
Her short season’s end nigh
Shriveling once the frost sets in
And conceding to the ice

Moonblossom rich in scent
A true pleasure to stand by
Her short-lived sweet fragrance
Would all surely vivify

~
pureland flower, always
twisted into someone else's
creation, never of her own
~
volition, breakable eggshell,
quiet and still, lifeless
from pushing boundaries,
~
a color without color, lifted by
the breeze, folded up neatly,
no wonder why nowhere to fly.
~

They say girls are like flowers,
But I’m unlike any flower
That you have ever known

Flowers bloom in the spring,
And use the sunlight
As a light source
And a means to grow

I bloom in the darkness
Wrapped underneath my covers,
Beside my pillows,
In a room,
Locked from the inside,
So that I
Can be alone

Flowers need water
From streams and lakes,
From clouds through rain,
After which a vibrant rainbow,
Always awaits

My water comes from pain,
But has the power to heal
As it falls
From the eyes,
As tears,
Drop by drop,
To the roots
Beneath the surface,
And far below

Make no mistake,
Like all flowers
I bloom,
But I operate beyond constructs
Like seasons
Or time
Or weather,
Of the physical

My journey is that of
Patience,
And growth
That can only be seen
By the beholder,
And to those
The beholder
Decides to show

Lonely flowers
Growing, with laughter
Each petal, dancing
one after another
like the children
they're running with laughter
but soon they'll cry
soon they'll cry...

a pink peony
brusque summer breeze
grounded, with quiet contentment
Oh, what could be more delightful to tease?