#beautifulpoetry
The book opened. I’d almost finished it.
Hollow — hopeless were his eyes,
as if awaiting to die, or be killed.
I read through the pages,
blotches of water blurring certain words.
It was ironic — she always seemed so happy.
Impossible to believe she wrote this.
I wiped the beads from my eyes
and reached the final chapters.
A signature marked the end,
the corner of the page dark with blood.
The name of the author was someone I knew.
At least, I thought I did.
The book was closed. It seemed ordinary.
It told no stories,
and yet it told every story.
Maybe not ones that were fictional,
but the ones that meant enough.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 4:49 PM UTC
Flowers are different. Just like us.
They all have different shapes, but that's what makes them special.
They shine so brightly, in different colors.
They have uniquely shaped petals.
They possess captivating qualities.
And each have their own story, all just like us.
Our stories begin and end the same,
Yet we're all so different from each other.
Every person you see, a friend, colleague, even a stranger.
They all have their stories.
Some flowers live in remotely good environment, others had to fight to survive.
There's also flowers which are well liked for their appearances,
while others get overlooked because they're "unattractive."
Dandelions go far and wide,
Meanwhile mimosa's stay in the same place, although they have potential.
Sunflowers take the easy road, they rely on birds to spread their seeds.
Lotus flowers stay to what they know best.
All just like us.
Sakura blooms are fragile, they die easily,
Cacti have learnt to live independently, without anyone else,
Both die without proper care in the end,
One is just quicker than the other.
We all grow, we all wither, yet our stories live on,
Just like the flowers, always finding a way to bloom again,
Whether quick to bloom or slow to grow,
We all find our place under the same sky,
Reaching for the light.
May 19, 2025
May 19, 2025 at 2:24 PM UTC