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Young seedling sprouting,
Bold blades surrounding her like
Guards. Adolescent
Leafling sways, dancing softly
In the breath of the forest.
It feels like paintbrush
Fingertips caressing
Porcelain canvas;
Like a gentle metronome
Between your shoulders,
Held in chrysalis arms.

It feels like butterfly
Kisses under cotton sheets.
Passionate hands carve
Into electrified skin, and
Your ears attune to
The static moans from
A pair of sealed lips.
I've cast a hundred
Smiles at strangers and
Loved ones and no
Smile back has ever meant
More to me than yours.

I've gazed into a dozen
Pairs of eyes, trying to
Spark my clairvoyance.
I'd yet to see the future
Until I dove into yours.

I've poured all my love
To only a few, and none
Have nourished my soul like you;
Like a fresh breath after April showers,
And I am in full bloom.
I wake in the belly of a poem.
Wading into watercolor
And a twisting labyrinth
Of Boston ivy.
I can't see through this fog
But it can see through me.
Words like pollen glide
On the wind and
Guide me like fireflies to
A sanctuary of wildflowers.
Here, everything speaks
To me, fluent in my native tongue.
Inhale, exhale, repeat until there's peace.
Bonsai at my feet as if
My toes are whispering to the roots:
"Grow, blossom, thrive",
And I will learn to
Take my own advice.
Jia-Rong Tsao Apr 2019
Some girls are red roses
Romantic and loving
Bold and red

Some girls are sunflowers
They shining like the sun each time they enter the room

Some girls are carnations
They love the sisters that they have

Some are lilies
Tender, floating and graceful

Some are cherry blossoms
So pretty but only bloom for a couple of days

What kind of flower am I, you ask?

I am a wildflower
Nothing holding me back
I have the fire
Burning inside of me
I am a cage less phoenix
And no trap will trap me
I am the tameless spirit
Of a wildflower
Day 3 of month long poetry prompt challenge
md-writer Apr 2019
In the midwinter of the soul,
all is cold and fruit is
nowhere to be found.
Leaves and blossoms that once
sat spinning light and health
have fallen off and lie there,
broken down below.

The forest floor beneath me,
one time,
was carpeted with remnants
of my last sweet spring
of growth.
Abandoned, all but lost,
and listening,
to a moaning in the wind.

But trees don't die in winter;
nor did I.

Spring crept in slowly, bit by bit,
an undiscovered quickness in the
heart, and hints of breath
so far away, so deep within, that
stirrings heard were no more spent
than darkness closed back in.

But still that gentle pressing in the
heartwood of my soul,
kept on, and stronger day by day
until, with terrifying clarity
the parts of me that died
were seeking fully to control
each waking thought.

In the midwinter of the soul,
the heart is cold, and fruits
that once were juicy lie there
rotting on the ground.
And all seems lost within.

But 'tis not so for me, I know,
for Spring has come again
once more, the sap runs true,
runs through each drooping limb.

Lift up your heads, you forests of
the Lord, bowed down,
cold within.
Let light shine forth within you,
let the woodland fairies swim
through waterfalls of blossoms as they
slip from limb to limb,
delighting in the tearing of the
chaining wounds within.

"Bleed once more," He told me,
"let the terror of your sin,
destroy the cold unfeeling
that has wormed at you - and then

at last,
the living, green delight
will sparkle like the stars of
every clear and silent night."

Bear fruit in keeping with the
cleansing of your soul, for
every tree drinks deeply
of the river's rushing flow;
take confidence, a promised voice to hear:

"Well grown, my tree. My good and
faithful bough."
And in the brightness of His
majesty, I will forever
April 2
ConnectHook Mar 2019
She stirs in her cell, unaware she’s free
The keyboards start to click in joyous dread;
For you, O useless reader, hold the key
To rouse this sleeping prisoner from her bed.
Accustomed to her dull imprisoned state
Unused to warmth, she babbles in her cage
She fears, at first, the freedom to create;
Awakening, the muse begins to rage
Across the warming threshold into light,
She strides as verses blossom on the page
To chastise and put winter’s ghosts to flight.
The thawing wind! She shakes her golden hair
And lyric pollination seeds the air . . .
Yusof Asnan May 2018
Don't keep it in.
Open your wound.
Let it bleed.
Feel the pain.
Cry it out.
Feel all the hurt
So tomorrow; you

Yusof Asnan May 2018
She has grown
weary of empty
Shallow promises
and broken
So she break
other's trusts
and played each
of those who
comes next

Yusof Asnan May 2018
She would rather
choose mundane;
Because that mean
she's safe.


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