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anotherdream Nov 2017
Flower flower, on your stem,
Do you not worry less and less,
What you’ll be, like one of them?

Flower flower, in the wind,
Take my heart, take me in.
I’ve wanted nothing else since.

Flower flower, how you bloom!
You shine so brightly just to be in a room.
Time controls when fate is too soon.

Flower flower, where do you live?
You’re stolen of pedals and yet you still live,
Hoping there’s more you can happily give.

Flower flower, in the grass,
Are you not crying, are you not sad?
I’m already used to it with all I’ve had.

Flower flower, show me your face,
I want to be you, I want to have grace.
So I will always have the words to say.

Flower flower, please open up,
Show us your pedals, show us your love.
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t reach for the sun.

Flower flower, hold your ground,
Don’t be alarmed when you hear the sound,
Of others mocking and playing around.

Flower flower, release your scent,
Let us know you and no longer guess,
Of your colors, shape, or past.

Flower flower, tell me your fears.
I will listen to you whenever you’re near,
And hear your voice when you fail to endear.

Flower flower, show me how.
Do they not hurt, do they not gouge?
You were tried and forsaken, yet you make no sound.

Flower flower, hear my cry.
You’ve heard so many others so why not mine?
Seems all there is to do in life is die.

Flower flower, I beg you, don’t fade.
Choose to keep on, choose to stay.
Before the wolves devour my last words I’ve always wanted to say.

Flower flower, forgive my actions.
I faded away along with the ashes,
Holding the fire, holding the rashes.

Flower flower, I can explain.
I’m so desperate to say what I’ve always to say,
Waiting for that one miraculous day.

Flower flower, I made a mistake.
I know I’ll remember it all the way to my grave.
I’ve told you nothing, so don’t bother saying what you’ll say.

Flower flower, it’s not your fault.
You were never aware of this pain as I walked through the halls.
I kept my head held high, kept my shoulders tall.

Flower flower, where will you be,
When I’m buried and no longer can see?
Guess you were the person and I was the deed.
Reem Luna Apr 2015
There was once a small, dying flower
Her beauty was dim
Thoughts trapped her from deep below
The roots that held her down made it hard to grow

She lived a life of solitude
No other flowers blossomed beside her
Her sweet aroma nobody smelt
In the lonely landscape in which she dwelt

But then there came a day when something happened
The piercing blue sky changed into oyster silver
And as the flower proceeded to slowly die in pain
The miracle came. Rain.

The rain fell from the sky like liquid jewels
Each drop nourished the flower
Although the rain didn’t realize at first
It had helped the flower overcome the worst

Through the air the rain and flower shared silent whispers
The rain understood the flower’s dying condition
The flower was relieved that someone else knew
Of the deep trauma that everyday grew

For many weeks the rain showered on
To help the flower continue to be strong
But the rain didn’t know of the flower’s underground roots
The rain wanted to know but the flower kept them as emotional loots

One day another accompanied the rain
A being called sunshine, a beaming white light
Though slight droppings of rain spluttered down from the sky
The flower was inevitably starting to die

The flower didn’t want the rain to know
How dependent she was of her nurturing
The flower stood while its immunity could run
As the rain started to fade into the sun

The flower should be glad that the rain started to calm
For the rain carried pain and distress from far above
So the flower carried the trauma and rejection
Into the roots where she was bullied by her reflection

The sun was kindhearted, pure and bright
It shone optimism and grace to all in its range
It was actually a key to the flower’s survival
But neglect and jealously made her the rival

The flower started to push the rain away
She didn’t want to hold the rain back from serenity
So the rain dripped off the darkening petals
As the flower wishes, the rain cools and settles

The rain disappeared in the light of the sun
Creating a spectrum of colours bleeding across the sky
The flower sighed in relief of the petrichor
As the flower died, and became no more.
I know the theme is cliche and kind of childish, don't judge. But I actually wrote this when I was nine and have just gone through and edited some stuff. So I hope its ok :)
J D Zewall Apr 2020
As I was walking through the endless gardens, smelling each flower as I often would, I came across a flower sweeter than any I had ever smelled. The flower was delicate, and the whitest of whites, and as I smelled it, it called to me to be picked. I wanted the flower, and the flower wanted me, so I picked the flower and brought it home with me. The flower made me happy, and I made the flower happy. I watered it each day and did all that I could to take care of the flower. But each day, I saw the flower wilt. More and more each day the flower wilted. And I tried to ask the flower what was wrong, but the flower was happy and refused to tell me. Looking back, deep in my heart, I knew what was wrong, but I selfishly couldn't believe it. And I believe that deep down the flower knew what was wrong, but was too happy to accept it. So one day, as I brought the flower with me on a walk, I planted it into the ground. I could not plant the flower where I had found the flower, because I had already ruined the flower to the point that it could not return. So I planted the flower carefully in a new spot. The flower was sad and surprised. I was sad though I knew it was coming. But I knew in my heart that the flower would be picked by someone else and would thrive and grow more beautiful. The new owner and the flower would be happier than I and the flower were capable of. And I went back to walking through the gardens, hoping that there was a flower meant for me.
Nick Moser Oct 2015
The listening stopped a while ago.
It’s like the monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just didn’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
You used to deliver information to my being like you were the great Giving Tree.
And I was a nearby flower.
A delicate, nearby flower.
A flower that went about its normal routines, such as photosynthesis or pollination or other flower things.
Ah, those flower things.
To me they are everything.
This flower would blossom in the spring and wither in the winter.
I would spend my flower days in the summer breathing in the glowing sunlight and living my flower life.
And in the fall, I would spend my flower nights rocking in the breeze, waiting for winter to come and bring me my renewal period.
I would look with my flower eyes toward you, the great Giving Tree.
Tall and ***** like the unstoppable force.
And I, there on the ground, the immovable object.
Your knowledge was so delightful at first.
It lit up my surrounding flower world more than the Sun ever could.
Your knowledge would come at all hours of the day, no matter rain or shine.
I remember once a long time ago when I was a little, tiny flower.
It was raining on my little tiny flower head.
But you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The rain that would beat pitter-patter on my pedals.
The water that would run down my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak up the water my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
And then there was the time when I was an older, bigger flower.
The Sun was shining on my older, bigger flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The sunlight that shine zig-zag on my pedals.
The shadow that would cast from my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak in the sunlight my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
But now I am a current, normal flower.
The world is passing by my current, normal flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
You with your knowledge….
Said nothing to me, your son.
I didn’t know what to take in.
So I did just what you didn’t say.
And I just kept watching the world float by you, great Giving Tree.
You, the unstoppable force.
And I just kept watching the world float by me, the delicate flower.
Me, the immovable object.
And for the rest of our days you said nothing to me.
You don’t pass your knowledge to me, your delicate flower son.
Your immovable object.
And I stop listening to you, my great Giving Tree.
My unstoppable force.
The monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just don’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears anymore.
The relationship we had has faded away.
But I had a feeling neither of us would win when we first met.

“Because you know what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”
Take your best shot.
"Poisonous" -kaitlyn warnken

I live in a grey and white world were i dont always get to see the sun, so I was in The flower garden.
In the garden, I noticed a flower from the distance that was full of color that I couldve never see before. A color your reality would call pink.
Oh how it was a poisonis flower, but to me this flower was beautiful.
I wanted to take it home all for myself. It showed me things i could never see before. I wanted to watch this flower grow. I needed colors and I learned that day that my love for pink was strong which soon became my only and favorite color. I like all flowers, but only I could see the pink in this flower. to the sky I wish all flowers could be pink, but in a world grey and white.. One was a miracle.
Oh how I loved this flower.
But Momma always told me not to pick the pretty flowers... Because They would die...
And daddy always told me to stay away from poisonis things becausw I would get hurt...
But in my world grey and white, I didn't want to leave the only thing that could bring color into my life, the only color I could see. So I sheltered the flower... And ate their leaves the leaves the flower gave to me.
Oh what a poisonis flower...
...Oh what a poisonis flower...

'I think I'm awake now. Ive never seen a place like this before were Everythings colorful.
Why am i grey?
Am i going insane?
Where is my flower?
Where is my flower?
Where is my flower...?

I didn't understand what was going on.
This flower gave me color and I just wanted to have my flower back.. I Dropped to my knees and cried in the green grass and asked the sky with a tear in my eye..

"How could somewhere so beautiful feel so ugly without my flower?..."

Im so grey. It didn't matter if the world saw color anymore... In my eyes it didnt matter anymore.
Nothing mattered anymore. My life faded black and I just wanted to wake up.
I felt like i was dreaming.'

I could feel the poison leaving my body and by this point I woke up.
When I opened my blood shot red eyes and lifted my sore body... I could see my flower.
I looked at myself and I was full of color!
I was pink! Just like my flower!.
I thaught, 'Oh what a poisonis flower
I do not authorize the duplication of this poems, photos, writtings, or any personal information.
If any questions conserning, or about this poem or my page you mat contact me.
Zizi Abok Feb 2020
This Flower blooms and shines with every brush of sun rays
This Flower sprouted amidst three trees and the three trees fed the Flower with good shade
This flower grew up to imitate the trees
This flower developed the bark of the trees.

This Flower's peduncle is firmly fixed to the ground
Don't be carried away by the colourful petals of this Flower
for this Flower has a bittersweet nectar
This Flower has a stubborn core
This Flower looks fragile but it has a strong receptacle
This Flower looks beautiful but it's got thorns on its stem;
so be careful when you feel tempted to pluck it
But I say it is the Flower you'd probably never pluck.

This Flower has a pistil but doesn't have a stamen, so it is imperfect
But this Flower is a delight
Its fragrance is soothing to the nostrils
and its beauty is everlasting to the eyes
This Flower is ethereal.
Errol T Jabillo Aug 2013
Once I had a dream that there was drought,
I never believed because I had a doubt;
If that soon happens, I might die about,
For I am just a vulnerable flower waiting to sprout.

The next night, I had dreams that reign;
At first, I thought it was a mild and a light rain,
Too bad, it became a storm and it gave me pain;
Oh no! I am just a vulnerable flower and it might grant me bane.

The third night, I had a dream so true,
That once a gigantic wind came through;
Clue is to be ready but unfortunately, it blew,
Halt! I am just a vulnerable flower and it made me blue.

By the morning, I realized and already knew,
That it was just a flashback of yesterday’s dew;
Standing still in the sandy earth as crew,
Made me realize, I am just a vulnerable flower and it made me new.

Weeds beside me might steal the rain from me,
But, still, it’s not enough for them to be happy;
For too much rain rotten our freshness’ quality,
But I am just a vulnerable flower keeping my identity.

When the sun smiles is for me a glimpse of happiness,
That even a vulnerable flower must be given sunshine’s bless;
Thus fertilize with happiness to avoid multiple mess,
For I am just a vulnerable flower who needs caress.

What I want is just a particular time,
Where rain and sunshine meets in the rhythm of the chime;
The rainbow is what I am waiting for a time of prime,
For I am just a vulnerable flower who dreams sometime.

If love could be just rain and happiness be sunshine,
I’ll give you excess of it and give me assurance that you’re mine;
Enough rain and proportion of sunshine must be given to my vine,
For I am just a vulnerable flower as balanced as wine.

If my contentment be a rainbow, then let it be you,
For you have given me rain and a sun’s smile too;
More than that, the remains of love is dew, is what I hold into,
For I am just a vulnerable flower, contented to have you.

If I could be just a flower, then it would be better,
I might color your day and make it even sweeter;
Brighten your face and make your heart even lighter,
For I am not just a vulnerable flower, but I am a flower and a lover.
Liz Oct 2015
you can't make a flower grow
by telling it you love it,
by telling it it's beautiful.

a flower will continue to wither away,
even if you keep saying "I'm here for you."
when winter comes and the flower begins to die,
telling the flower "it gets better" won't warm the temperature.

don't try to nurture a flower you picked.
it will never be safer in your hands,
than it was in the grass.
flowers will dry when you rip them from the roots.

don't look at a brown flower,
and ask it "whats wrong".
it wouldn't tell you
even if it could talk.

don't lie to the flower
and say "its going to be okay"
because you put it in a vase.
the flower knows its not the same.

don't bother saying "you're not alone"
because flowers die all the time,
it already knows.
the flower is still on its own.

you can't glue the petals back on,
after you've plucked them all for a game.
she probably doesn't love you,
and the flower is not to blame.

you can't straighten out the stem,
after you've stepped on it in passing.
it will always be bent
even if you repent.

"i didn't mean to" means nothing to a flower
after you leave it in the dark.
it doesn't matter what you've said,
the flower is already dead.

a withered and dry flower,
will not stand up and turn green
just because you love it.

these things are simple facts,
its how nature works,
and nature will never love you back.

i know you're really trying,
and doing everything you can.
but without water and sun,
the flower will keep dying.
Laura Klawiter Mar 2015
The flower
Growing in front of my eyes
Astounds me
With its beauty
The petals
White as the moon
On a starless night
With the edges
Stained with a red
As dark and rich as wine
The center
A yellow
Like the sun
Hanging over a warm summer day

The flower
Stands on my lawn
As the only thing
That’s living
Its exuberant color
Bursting forth
Through the dried grass
And the graying soil
I have no idea
Where this flower came from
The fact that
The ground around it
Is caked in as normal
And seems as though
It hasn’t been overturned
In days

I think this flower
Has just appeared
Or really has always been there
Just now that I recognize
Its beauty
I feel the petals
Through my finger tips
And slowly moving
My palm onto
The main part of it
The petals
Feel like satin
Mixed with the soft skin
Of a baby
I let go of the petal
And walk into my house

From my window
As I awake
I noticed that it had snowed
And at first I am happy
But then I remember
My flower
And I arise from my bed
And run outside
The flower
Has disappeared under the cover
Of the snow
I go to where
My mighty flower
Once stood and I start to dig
To get the flower out
Hoping that no harm
Has befallen
My botanical beauty

I reach the flower
And see that it has
Wilted under
The weight of the snow
My flower
The one that
I had found
Breaking through the dullness
Has gone away
Because of the weight
Of a natural occurrence
And so I sit here
Where it once stood
And I wonder if I will ever see it again

But then I put the snow back
Into place
And I think
That the flower will return
Only this time
More beautiful than ever
Having conquered the snow
And the weight of the world
So I walk into my house
And lay back down
Thinking of the beautiful flower
That would come back to me
Sooner or later
In a quiet, pleasant meadow,
Beneath a summer sky,
Where green old trees their branches waved,
And winds went singing by;
Where a little brook went rippling
So musically low,
And passing clouds cast shadows
On the waving grass below;
Where low, sweet notes of brooding birds
Stole out on the fragrant air,
And golden sunlight shone undimmed
On all most fresh and fair;--
There bloomed a lovely sisterhood
Of happy little flowers,
Together in this pleasant home,
Through quiet summer hours.
No rude hand came to gather them,
No chilling winds to blight;
Warm sunbeams smiled on them by day,
And soft dews fell at night.
So here, along the brook-side,
Beneath the green old trees,
The flowers dwelt among their friends,
The sunbeams and the breeze.

One morning, as the flowers awoke,
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
A little worm came creeping by,
And begged a shelter there.
'Ah! pity and love me,' sighed the worm,
'I am lonely, poor, and weak;
A little spot for a resting-place,
Dear flowers, is all I seek.
I am not fair, and have dwelt unloved
By butterfly, bird, and bee.
They little knew that in this dark form
Lay the beauty they yet may see.
Then let me lie in the deep green moss,
And weave my little tomb,
And sleep my long, unbroken sleep
Till Spring's first flowers come.
Then will I come in a fairer dress,
And your gentle care repay
By the grateful love of the humble worm;
Kind flowers, O let me stay!'
But the wild rose showed her little thorns,
While her soft face glowed with pride;
The violet hid beneath the drooping ferns,
And the daisy turned aside.
Little Houstonia scornfully laughed,
As she danced on her slender stem;
While the cowslip bent to the rippling waves,
And whispered the tale to them.
A blue-eyed grass looked down on the worm,
As it silently turned away,
And cried, 'Thou wilt harm our delicate leaves,
And therefore thou canst not stay.'
Then a sweet, soft voice, called out from far,
'Come hither, poor worm, to me;
The sun lies warm in this quiet spot,
And I'll share my home with thee.'
The wondering flowers looked up to see
Who had offered the worm a home:
'T was a clover-blossom, whose fluttering leaves
Seemed beckoning him to come;
It dwelt in a sunny little nook,
Where cool winds rustled by,
And murmuring bees and butterflies came,
On the flower's breast to lie.
Down through the leaves the sunlight stole,
And seemed to linger there,
As if it loved to brighten the home
Of one so sweet and fair.
Its rosy face smiled kindly down,
As the friendless worm drew near;
And its low voice, softly whispering, said
'Poor thing, thou art welcome here;
Close at my side, in the soft green moss,
Thou wilt find a quiet bed,
Where thou canst softly sleep till Spring,
With my leaves above thee spread.
I pity and love thee, friendless worm,
Though thou art not graceful or fair;
For many a dark, unlovely form,
Hath a kind heart dwelling there;
No more o'er the green and pleasant earth,
Lonely and poor, shalt thou roam,
For a loving friend hast thou found in me,
And rest in my little home.'
Then, deep in its quiet mossy bed,
Sheltered from sun and shower,
The grateful worm spun its winter tomb,
In the shadow of the flower.
And Clover guarded well its rest,
Till Autumn's leaves were sere,
Till all her sister flowers were gone,
And her winter sleep drew near.
Then her withered leaves were softly spread
O'er the sleeping worm below,
Ere the faithful little flower lay
Beneath the winter snow.

Spring came again, and the flowers rose
From their quiet winter graves,
And gayly danced on their slender stems,
And sang with the rippling waves.
Softly the warm winds kissed their cheeks;
Brightly the sunbeams fell,
As, one by one, they came again
In their summer homes to dwell.
And little Clover bloomed once more,
Rosy, and sweet, and fair,
And patiently watched by the mossy bed,
For the worm still slumbered there.
Then her sister flowers scornfully cried,
As they waved in the summer air,
'The ugly worm was friendless and poor;
Little Clover, why shouldst thou care?
Then watch no more, nor dwell alone,
Away from thy sister flowers;
Come, dance and feast, and spend with us
These pleasant summer hours.
We pity thee, foolish little flower,
To trust what the false worm said;
He will not come in a fairer dress,
For he lies in the green moss dead.'
But little Clover still watched on,
Alone in her sunny home;
She did not doubt the poor worm's truth,
And trusted he would come.

At last the small cell opened wide,
And a glittering butterfly,
From out the moss, on golden wings,
Soared up to the sunny sky.
Then the wondering flowers cried aloud,
'Clover, thy watch was vain;
He only sought a shelter here,
And never will come again.'
And the unkind flowers danced for joy,
When they saw him thus depart;
For the love of a beautiful butterfly
Is dear to a flower's heart.
They feared he would stay in Clover's home,
And her tender care repay;
So they danced for joy, when at last he rose
And silently flew away.
Then little Clover bowed her head,
While her soft tears fell like dew;
For her gentle heart was grieved, to find
That her sisters' words were true,
And the insect she had watched so long
When helpless, poor, and lone,
Thankless for all her faithful care,
On his golden wings had flown.
But as she drooped, in silent grief,
She heard little Daisy cry,
'O sisters, look! I see him now,
Afar in the sunny sky;
He is floating back from Cloud-Land now,
Borne by the fragrant air.
Spread wide your leaves, that he may choose
The flower he deems most fair.'
Then the wild rose glowed with a deeper blush,
As she proudly waved on her stem;
The Cowslip bent to the clear blue waves,
And made her mirror of them.
Little Houstonia merrily danced,
And spread her white leaves wide;
While Daisy whispered her joy and hope,
As she stood by her gay friends' side.
Violet peeped from the tall green ferns,
And lifted her soft blue eye
To watch the glittering form, that shone
Afar in the summer sky.
They thought no more of the ugly worm,
Who once had wakened their scorn;
But looked and longed for the butterfly now,
As the soft wind bore him on.

Nearer and nearer the bright form came,
And fairer the blossoms grew;
Each welcomed him, in her sweetest tones;
Each offered her honey and dew.
But in vain did they beckon, and smile, and call,
And wider their leaves unclose;
The glittering form still floated on,
By Violet, Daisy, and Rose.
Lightly it flew to the pleasant home
Of the flower most truly fair,
On Clover's breast he softly lit,
And folded his bright wings there.
'Dear flower,' the butterfly whispered low,
'Long hast thou waited for me;
Now I am come, and my grateful love
Shall brighten thy home for thee;
Thou hast loved and cared for me, when alone,
Hast watched o'er me long and well;
And now will I strive to show the thanks
The poor worm could not tell.
Sunbeam and breeze shall come to thee,
And the coolest dews that fall;
Whate'er a flower can wish is thine,
For thou art worthy all.
And the home thou shared with the friendless worm
The butterfly's home shall be;
And thou shalt find, dear, faithful flower,
A loving friend in me.'
Then, through the long, bright summer hours
Through sunshine and through shower,
Together in their happy home
Dwelt butterfly and flower.
I have a flower, in a vase, sitting on my window sill
There are no other flowers on my window sill
        Just a rose.
This rose is special,
It hasn't died since I picked it.

The life of this rose depends on me.
No other flowers can exist on my window sill,
No other flowers can fit in the vase.
Just that flower, in that vase, on my window sill.

Walking through a garden, I see another flower.
Better than the rose in some ways,
but not in others.
      This flower is a lily.
My heart immediatly begins to tear in two.

So now I face a dilema.
Pick the lily, or let it die.
Keep the rose, or let it die.
Either way, one must die.
And I am stuck between two beauties.
I need a flower, in a vase, on my window sill.

So I delve deep.
I think broadly.
I remember something.
My favorite flower is an orchid.
I have a feeling my orchid is in a distant garden,
waiting to be picked --
       by me.
This orchid will be
My flower, in my vase, on my window sill.

And so I can live with the outcome of the lily
      or the rose
And I just hope they don't die
that someone else's favorite flower
     is a lily
     or a rose.
Because I know that something is going to happen
that will bring me closer to my favorite flower.
So I must be patient.
And just wait for
My perfect flower, in my perfect vase, on my window sill
God creates
The colors are beautiful
I lost the hands of God
Wearing my long blue skirt
My feelings become intense
I'm a young girl
with a round face
My eyes narrow at the corners when they smile
Smiles brought about by a girl and a boy
Passing through all his smiles
Having a smell of my childhood dresses
Similar to all paintings in my drawing book
of that river
Sharp mountain
and ugly crows
''I love you, God of jasmine flower''
No one knows the death of flowers
Just telling that flowers are beautiful forever
and time is the murderer
Wanting my mother's arms
Her ******* are beautiful
I smiled, knowing a pleasure
that will not be in my ****** relationship
The sky smells of death
Last night I dreamed that a flower was dead
I saw death  
Go out of my window
with white curtains
We are playing
Making songs and dancing
Humans didn't accept the dreams
''I love you so much, God of jasmine flower''
and beautiful
Innocent and depressed
His eyes, are
His hands will be for whom?!
Both his eyes flew
One day, all the birds in the sky will grow up
and will have no hands anymore
Your hands have two jasmine flowers
and I will taste them till the end of my life
His eyes are beautiful
I will see the sunset in whose eyes?!
Sewing all the floral white dresses of women, tender
Devoting my eyes to my mother
Giving my heart to my sister
''How much I love your eyes''
Eglantine flower has the most beautiful smiles
The sun is young for me
The God of jasmine flower is happy
A light has remained in my heart
with his leaving
I repeated it, endlessly
and keeping his soul in my heart
Now, he is a happy butterfly
has grown up
Fluttering, slowly
Sitting on all the flowers
It is happy and free
Children and rainbows always follow the butterflies
The death of each flower is not beautiful
''The God of jasmine flower''
Oh, beautiful flower !
Still wearing your childhood golden earrings?!
Your playmates calling you
among scorching summer grass
Do you hear the innocence in children's smiles?!
The jasmine's hair is long and dark
and gone...

خداوند می آفریند
رنگ ها زیبایند
دست های خدا را گم کردم
دامن بلند آبی ام را پوشیده ام
عواطف من زیاد شده است
دختر جوانی هستم
با صورتی پهن
چشمانی که وقتی می خندد
گوشه هایش نازک می شوند
خنده هایی که یک دختر و پسر می سازند
از میان تمام خنده هایش می گذرم
بوی پیراهن کودکی هایم را می دهد
شکل تمام نقاشی های دفترم را دارد
با آن رود
کوهی تیز
و کلاغ های زشت
''دوستت دارم خدای گل یاسمن''
...کسی مرگ گل ها را نمی داند
فقط می گویند برای همیشه زیبایند
و زمان قاتل است
آغوش مادرم را می خواهم
سینه های او زیباست
می خندم
لذتی که در رابطه ی جنسی ام نخواهم برد
آسمان بوی مرگ می دهد
دیشب خواب دیدم که یک گل مرده
مرگ را دیدم
که از پنجره ی اتاقم
با پرده های سفید بیرون رفت
بازی می کنیم
آهنگ می نوازیم و می رقصیم
انسان ها رؤیاها را نپذیرفتند
''من خیلی تو را دوست دارم خدای گل یاسمن''
چشم های او
و زیباست
معصوم و افسرده است
دست های او مال چه کسی خواهند بود!؟
تمام چشم هایش پرواز کردند
روزی تمام پرنده های آسمان بزرگ خواهند شد
و دیگر دست نخواهند داشت
دست هایت دو گل یاس دارد
''خدای گل یاسمن''
و من تا آخرعمر آن ها را خواهم چشید
چشم های او زیباست
غروب را در چشمان چه کسی خواهم دید!؟
تمام لباس های سفید گل دار زنان را لطیف دوخته ام
چشم هایم را به مادرم هدیه کنید
قلبم را به خواهرم بدهید
''چه قدر چشم های تو را دوست دارم''
زیباترین خنده ها را گل نسترن دارد
برایم تازه است
خدای گل یاسمن شاد است
با رفتنش
نوری در قلبم ماند
که مدام تکرارش کردم
و روحش را در قلبم نگه داشته ام
او الآن پروانه ای شاد است
بزرگ شده
که آرام بال می زند
روی تمام گل ها می نشیند
آزاد و شاد است
بچه ها و رنگین کمان ها همیشه به دنبال پروانه ها می گردند
مرگ هر گل زیبا نیست
''خدای گل یاسمن''
! ای گل زیبا
گوشواره های طلایی کودکی هایت را هنوز داری!؟
همبازی هایت
از میان چمن های داغ تابستان
صدایت می زنند
معصومیت خنده های کودکانه را می شنوی!؟
موهای یاسمن بلند و سیاه است
پروانه ها
و رفته اند
Sachin Subedi May 2018
A man is like a flower
Starts with a bud
Blossoms into its nature
Natural ecstasy and perfection
In time it wears out too
Finally falls off the tree
A natural process
A natural phenomenon
Naturally the man
See as a flower
All the nature of being
To the base is the same

The intelligence the man puts into saying
That he is only the creature of importance
And everything in the world are the resource
Resource to be consumed by himself
Is the false flag he is raising
And is in the denial of the very nature

Anything which is resonant
And synchronous to the nature
Has the time in nature to the eternity
Whereas if not
In accordance to the nature
Sooner or later
On the verse of decay
On the verse of extinction

I see the human race is in the path of extinction
As civilization denying nature rather than glorifying
Human beings are far from the true essence
And are not synchronizing in the heart
Of the very nature
The so called intelligence
is what humans praise and glorifying
A lot full of ****
And it is a shame

We see the population of human species
To rise and rise
So may presume the statement
I just stated to be false
But seeing the thought processes
And so called intelligence
Is setting the human species
To a sense of decay
The step to the human race to demolish its own race
Is a unjustified intelligence in itself

The truth and laws of nature
Being in shade
Humans incorporating thoughts
As a tool of destruction
Rather than construction
In the field of criticism rather than motivation
In the field of extinction rather than sustainability
In the field of destruction rather than collaboration
And effort in maintaining the continuity
Of equilibrium and resonance with the nature

On the contrary
Making critics and complain about the others
Not realizing all are the part of the whole
Is creating a challenge to the nature
Going off beat with the nature.

We shall know
Anything not synchronous
And not resonant to the nature
Nature wipes out sooner or later
We cannot accept the very fact it is true

Even seeing our own life
As a child
The bud to the flower
The youth
The perfection in being and entire existence
The new ideas and new world
The fruit of generation brings about
The generation to come
To fertilize the seeds of the existence
The old age
To be renewed thoughts
Nature wipes out as per the plan
of its own
Accept it as a reality
As it is the truth

The sharpness of flower
Remembered as the youthfulness of flower
The bud is treated emotionally
With care as it is to be the perfection
In the time to come
The flower to be wiped out is respected
As it was once a perfection
Once roared the magnificence of itself
Upon this very world
The being-wiped flower doesn’t ask
For its claim in the now world
And indulge the new with its now state
But appreciate the perfection once it had  
Make believe the youthful flower to blossom
And accept its own existence in the present.

Every species and beings
Are in the nature of being
We are no different from the other species
We are no superior and at the same time no inferior
To the other species
And not the other species to us humans

Everybody and everything
Is the part of the whole
The whole is the nature itself.
Sad Girl Mar 2016
If you burn a flower,
it happens slowly. (to you)
It may be astonishing
to watch and smell and feel,
but just look at what you've done
to the flower...
There are traces left;
the scent lingers,
but that flower will never be the same.
The colors are no longer vibrant.
The flower becomes stale and dried out.
It becomes so frail
that touching it
could wither the rest
of what is left behind.
The worst part is that
you have never been,
could never be a flower.
You don't know what it is
to be a flower, you don't know
what it feels like when it is burning.
You blindly take action against nature
not fearing the consequence.
Nature is there for you,
nature takes care of you.
Look at what you have done
to this beautiful flower that you
once held so dear?
Foolish little boy;
once you stop caring for your planet,
the planet no longer takes an interest in you.
It no longer respects you,
feels the need to protect and nurture you.
You have taken this flower,
this gift of the universe and damaged it.
When the rain stops falling and the gardens
cease growth, don't curse the skies and the soil.
Return to the empty flower-bed where you
found that brilliant flower standing,
firmly rooted in the earth and extending up
to you awaiting it's water and food.
Feeding you it's beloved oxygen.
That flower is gone,
it has moved on to a new life,
with new purpose.
Once you waste something away,
you cannot get it back.
The lesson is hard to learn,
but none the less, you have learned it.
It is a  s h a m e ,
the earth loses flowers every day
for little boys to learn big lessons.
The flower cared.
Too much, some would say,
Too naive, too loving and innocent.
Easily taken advantage of.
They were right.
Yet the flower didn't believe them.
She wanted to care too much.

The flower knew the snail,
A brown snail with its home on its back and a hard shell.
A shell that spiraled up to a point.
The slow sad snail that sallied its way across the garden every day.
The snail said it would be salted one day,
Or slowly baked in the sun,
Someday soon,
If it couldn’t have a bite of the flower’s pedals.

The timid, naive, caring flower
Believed that brown snail
And stood still as the snail slunk it’s way up the stem
To the precious pedals.
At first the snail was kind,
But when the days wore on and the flower grew weaker,
He hemmed and hawed and hurt the flower with his words
Complaining at the scars and hurt.
The ones that were only there because of him.
He became obsessed, demanding more,
Demanding everything.
She gave him as much as he wanted,
Begging and pleading for him to stop,
And trying not to give any more.
The flower grew weak and nearly died.
If flowers had knees she’d be weeping and trembling on them.

A gentle hand reached down and gingerly touched the crumbling flower.
The hand was worn and weathered, streaked with dirt,
A gardener's hand.
The gardener got his shovel and
Put the flower in a ***.
He watched after the flower daily,
Watering, nourishing, healing.
He did not blame the flower for attracting the snail,
His only thought was to heal and help.
He saw the potential in the flower and knew how to renew it.

She began to heal.
  *   *
*  O  *
  *   *
    | _
    |  /
kivel Nov 2018
Trivial beauty holds me captive as i sit near the flower
Reaching towards it, marveling at the colorful rainbow
It flaunts its
Sheer beauty,
Having it wave with the breeze
As i watch

The stripes came to take the juice
And then left to spread more
Lo, the beauty of the stripes and the beauty of its job
I followed. leaving the flower.
Ever so noisily, It buzzed, harmonically, lovingly

it danced in ways that intrigued me
so i left the flower
to pursue my bee
it took me to its hive
but disappeared back to join the others
back to its life
back to her lover
ditching me.

time flew by and by dark
the flower still glows with its rainbow color
no matter what comes to it
it holds itself tall and proud
it stayed in place
waiting for me to come
such purity
i watch

Dawn of fall came, and i opened my ears
As a yellow flower sang nearby
Nevertheless, a sunflower
Ah, yellow was such a pretty color

flower of the sun, reflecting the most powerful object in our vision
this flower had the qualities to shine like one
for it shined so brightly during the day
i started to watch this flower instead
and sing to it, hoping it would grow
cared for it with everything i had
but i failed to find it during the night
for it changed throughout the month, throughout the day
soon i found my efforts were nothing
and that the sunflower was always in its own flock

the yellow flower is still there
always will be
but its petals always faced something else
in the opposite direction
and as soon as i come close to getting it
it turns away, mimicking its sister,
the bee

summer came
and the rainbow flower, it was still here
it never left
confused, i sat
i became sad
why did i leave this flower, ever?
it still stayed
so i've decided to stay.

A horrible love note
Justine Snyder Oct 2010
In walks a little man, with a crooked smile and mismatched eyes.
His voice is filled with glee and giddy, almost like a child.
“What a pretty little flower! I think I shall take it and make it mine.”
Our gaze falls on the pretty little flower whose hair is as white as snow and as black as coal.
Her gaze is as cold as the weather outside and her voice is nearly the same.
“Be careful, wicked man, for this flower has thorns.”
The focus is back on the man with the crooked smile and mismatched eyes.
His smile falters and his gaze is hateful and insane.
“Oh but my pretty little flower, I have dealt with many thorns in my time.
You are not the first and you will probably not be the last.”

The pretty little flower does not wilt nor does she back down.
She speaks with no emotion as she folds her hands across her lap.
“Wicked, silly man. You do not know what kind of flower you wish to pluck.
This flower has a touch of DEATH within it's petals.”

The man with the crooked smile and mismatched eyes freezes in place.
The smile on his face disappears and a child like anger flows into his eyes.
Words escape his mind as he steps forward and reaches to caress the flower's hair.
The pretty little flower did not say a word but looked up into the mismatched eyes of the man with the crooked smile.
Her hair was as smooth as the silk that made her black cloak.
The man with the crooked smile and mismatched eyes felt a fever pass over his skin.
“I think that I will now have a taste of my pretty little flower.”
He licked his lips as his eyes flickered.
Again the pretty little flower said not a word.
He brought his lips to hers and kissed her with such passion.
The man with the crooked smile and the mismatched eyes then fell to the ground.
The pretty little flower then smiled as she then stood and walked over his still body.
“Silly, wicked man. You should not try to kiss death.”
She then put her pitch black hood over her head and grabbed her scythe.
With a laugh that could melt bones she dissipated into the night.
© J.Snyder 2010
That Girl Nov 2012
In a beautiful garden
sits a pretty flower
surrounded by plant life
it's filled with music
it dances and grows
as chlorophyll flows

But a vandal comes
and digs up theflower
grabs it carelessly
ripping out good roots
soon the flower
lies alone on the street
the music, the life
everything, everyone
is gone

The flower is left alone with itself
the flower hates itself
it's ugly, its wrong, its
just not perfect
and noone tells it otherwise
there is noone else
as it fills with black hate
it ripps off its petals
and plucks out it's seeds
it starts to die
it does not look like it will last til dawn

But it does
and as soon as sunrise
a wise old woman
out for her walk
stumbles upon this
pile of sadness
she gently lifts up the flower
being careful not to rip the leaves
or break the stem
she cradles it in her wrinkly arms
and takes it to her house

she waters it
and watches it
and everday she sings to the flower
day by day she always persists
and sure enough, that flower
grows new petals
and strengthens it's stem
life flowing though it
so lyrical now
it recognises the beauty
that has always been there
One day, the woman
returns the flower to the garden
and the flower dances and sings
and worries no more
because it feels beautiful
on its own
and doesnt need the other flowers
*she sings for herself
Astounding Aug 2013
A flower sways upon a rolling hill
Basking in the sun
She has quenched her thirst with the morning dew
And her day has just begun

The flower stands tall and proud of her petals
As they compliment the meadow
When suddenly upon the hill
She sees a dancing shadow

A young child comes frolicing toward her
And upon her petals the child stares
She pulls her face up to the flower's eye
And envelops it within her hairs

The child caresses her nose upon the petals
and takes a giant whiff
The flower fears what could possibly happen
And her stem becomes stiff

The child wraps her hand around the flower's base
And thrusts upward with a pluck
The flower has been free'd from the ground
And is no longer stuck

Her beauty has brought a child happiness
But at what cost?
Taken from her home
The flower is now lost

In the distance the child's mother is calling
And the child beings to sprint towards the voice
The flower slips through the child's fingers
And she leaves it behind by choice

The flower travels with the wind
Gliding through the sky
The sight is so beautiful
Who knew flowers could fly

The gust of wind softens
And she falls back to the grass
She lay there taking it all in
Back home alas

She realizes she has little time
Before her petals wither away
So she lay there basking in the sun
Enjoying her last day

She does not groan or weep
But glances at the leaves on the trees
For a flower without water
Can still feel the breeze
theresa caesar Nov 2017
The little kid whose life was hid from the world knowledge
Her daddy unaware of the life that was started inside her mommy’s tummy
Daddy went to war, but mommy found a new daddy who was not her’s
To her that man was not a dad he was a monster
When the girl would even talk out of place the
Monster would make sure the precious flower was black and blue
If someone was to find out about the little flower
The monster wouldn’t get money from his parent
When the monster was mad the flower started to wilt
From the snap of the belt when it would hit her skin
When the little flower would cry the monster found a sensation in it and kept swinging
Years went by with throws years more and more scars came to the flower
Her mommy found another daddy but he was not hers
To her this man was not a dad he was a demon
This demon craved to the smooth skin of a innocent girl
The demon’s fingers icy cold sent chills up her spin
His fingers ventured to places that made her cry
Where was mommy? She was not to be found the first couple times
The flower told her mommy, but mommy refused to acknowledge it
Mommy said the demon was drunk so it’s not the same
Mommy didn’t stop the demon
The demon hurt the little flower
The demon took the last piece of innocence from the little flower
But the little flower refused to lose to this fight
The little flower grew into a giant rose bush
Over time the wilts smoothed out the bruises faded away
Where was mommy? The flower didn’t know
The flower heart was open because of all the emptiness from her past it’s now over flowing
And mommy didn’t like that
because when mommy saw her little flower flourish into a life of love
It broke mom’s heart. But mommy won’t change because she is broken and refuses to see it.
Robbie Jul 2013
Note: This is a spoken word poem. Read aloud for best affect. Poem will read with a natural flow.*

Remember back when beauty was that little yellow flower?
And nobody picked it because they were afraid that the color would fade
So they just sat
And they stared
In awe
For hours at a time
The way that today I look at my reflection
But the awe has turned to agony
And I look in my eyes, and recoil
What used to be “Just fine” now causes inner turmoil
Isn’t that sad?
That flower got picked from its window box in the schoolyard
And just like we expected, life for it got hard
The flower scarred
Its pain written out on every single petal
And the petals, they faded
Like now natural beauty has become overrated
As the flower sits in a bouquet of hybrid roses
And those roses have thorns
Thorns that ***** and sting and poke
Like when you say, “Aw, c’mon, it was just a joke”
To that girl you called ugly ‘cause she dyed her hair and got braces
Trying to fit in with all the other faces
Isn’t that what society wants from us today?
To change and rearrange what God gave us
To fill ourselves with plastic because, according to the famous ones
That’s what makes life so fantastic
And Barbie isn’t our role model because she’s smart
Not ‘cause she’s a doctor and a vet and a scientist and probably a professor in art
But because she’s skinny
And if you put her proportions on a real girl
That girl would be in a hospital
Fighting anorexia while she gets another implant
Today it feels like we don’t stand a chance
Because they tell you that if you wanna make an impression
Just forget that yellow flower
And now, with every waking hour
I think about how I could be taller
Or have prettier hair
Maybe if I dyed it black or red or blonde then everyone would care
Maybe none of them would stare
Maybe I could finally live my life
Without everyone waiting to see if I can finally live up to the expectations
Because I can’t
I look in that mirror wondering if I can see what everyone else is wanting
Because once upon a time
I thought I was fine
I thought short hair was spunky
And dark eyes were lovely
It’s like I’ve been living a lie
Like Christmas time when you finally ask Mommy if Santa is fake
And she hesitates
And then she tells you yes
So I stare for hours and hours
I’m just like that flower
Now I’m broken and I’m plain
When did beauty become a game?
What’s ugly is the way kids hate themselves now
‘Cause of what the TV is telling us now
That we all need to learn how
To look like everyone else
Hate to burst your bubble that I can’t look like Paris or Nicki
(Spoiler alert: They’re fake)
Not unless you want me
Destroying myself
Because I refuse to be like everyone else
I just wanna get rid of the shame
That makes me blame myself for not being “pretty enough”
I just wanna be that flower
Whose beauty was natural and everyone watched for hours
Not needing to compare themselves to it
Because they all looked just as beautiful
And they knew it
So maybe some of us who are still sane, we can make a change
Show the next generation that beauty isn’t in what you gain
It’s when you remain the same
And maybe I can look in that mirror
Without any fear
And actually smile
And sit there awhile
And find beauty without a search
Maybe then there wouldn’t be so much hurt
Like when we see that yellow flower
Petals stretched toward the sun
Then we will know our job is done
And we have finally won
Eve Mar 2018
I still water your flower
planted in me long ago
constantly nurturing the small hope
that someday a flower will grow again

    The moment we met,
a small seed was planted our hearts
we spent each day together
the dormant seed remained

    With time I realized,
the tiny seed inside of each of us
had begun to sprout and grow,
blossoming into the most beautiful flower

    We were connected to each other
through the beauty we shared.
an unmatched closeness
that I believed would never break

    The flower continued to blossom and grow
as our time together passed
rooting deep into our hearts
it seemed nothing could grow between us

    As time went on I realized
Your flower was different
your roots weren’t as deep as mine
and my heart constantly had to water for the both of us

    Your roots were shallow
barely penetrating the surface
my roots were deep and strong
a labyrinth of chambers enveloping my heart

    The undeniable day has now come
as you realize you cannot water our flower anymore
you move on
ripping our flower out from between us.

    Our feelings and emotions were the same
both sad about what we had lost
although similar,
a drastic difference separated us

    when our flower was ripped away,
you pulled yours at the roots
like an unwanted ****
yet my roots remained

    They remained
naked without their flower
a hideous plant
empty but surviving

    So my love, I will continue to water your flower
that was planted in me long ago
constantly trying to nurture the hope
that someday your love will bloom in me again
Geetha Jayakumar Jan 2015
A beautiful flower of peace shone bright
Along with the morning  sun rise full of light
But a naughty bee came to sting the flower
As jealousy crept in its eyes
couldn't withstand the sight of glowing flower
And a heavy wind blew away all the petals of peace.

Next morning again sun rose to its peak
Spreading the rays of warmth and delight
The flower of Peace once again woke up
On seeing the rays of powerful light.

How can a flower of peace die,
When every sun rays cheers it from all the sides.
Flower of peace is the reflecting diamond,
It will pass on the reflection of light everywhere,
which it receives from the sun.

Flower of peace cannot wither away,
As there is always someone to water and nurture it well.
Please keep on passing this flower of peace one to one
Keep on passing as long as humanity sustains.
Let it spread the message of peace and love.

Let not the Flower Of Peace wither away!

Geetha Jayakumar

© 2014 Geetha Jayakumar
Simon Apr 2021
Everyone is just another flower at heart....
After all, being another flower from everyone else, gives you the most pleasurable specifics in the right place...when you only feel tolerated enough to advance your very cause into the next adventure (that is truly within the smell of the pollen that perfumes the petal like a fragrance that isn't tolerated in it's own self properly). Even when's all about the smell that directs that very such advancing cause forward into the next district of measurable causes (when and only when), you have become finally advanced enough to truly (now and forevermore) surpass the very self (that you once were, only just a few seconds ago, depending on a flowers perception of time itself). Then forecasts it's own weighing measures into even (the next distract of measurable causes) that combines together an even more stronger fragrance that balances correctly, (when and only when) things truly become one with one another.
In any case, those very pleasurable specifics become the very documentary of a flower becoming just... "Another flower."
But is such terms or pleasant metaphors enough for this very emotional written appeals the very abstract piece one is even wanting to read, or even take the time to truly focus on (by concentration, alone)?
Flowers at the end of the day, don't mask their own intentions (when their own petals start falling, because of aging regrets).
It's more of the very already (possible) defining examples that don't let the petals (with emotional appealing problems) that just don't know how to show themselves, properly. After all, when petals fall from a flower, it's probably because they have yet to show their own hidden beauty.
In essence, when you shed the petals, it isn't of the very cause for when seasons change and flowers go to sleep, or end their own lifecycle with the changing of seasonal tides, or even potentially becoming plucked clean by an enforcer at large who see's flowers ugly (because they see themselves as nothing but useless opportunities at large)!
Regardless, when another flower does this, it's because the very first impression comes off as the obvious spectacle of someone hiding their own shame away, for the oncoming tide of self-insecurities that don't give them the very such "open-minded" source needed for the very availability of shooting forward and simply coming out for being who you want too be....
And that is not of just being another flower... But more the result of a flower changing her own ins and outs for being the very tolerant of their own attitude and behavioral willpower at large.
Whatever happens, nothing can prepare (for what just another flower truly is), is for them to be in the very safe regarding hands of their own potentially past self-ridiculing of oneself.
When and only when, those very petals that you have spread your own fragrance (in the form of beautiful pheromones).
Those very same petals will begin again.
Reattaching itself, accordingly.
And then reversing time (as if looking back at a film roll of many sequence of events) that may help you into reversing your own perspective (with time, that is).
In the end, what you really thought was a big deal (once...) Became the very maneuvering ability where you are now ready to begin re-growing those fragile, (yet strong willed) petals at heart.
This is entirely dedicated to someone who (while only talking with them for only for a few moments in time...) They have in a very mutual respect I now have for them and for their own work, (as by how they have completely reflecting on mine in such a positive sense). I want to truly dedicate them with this poem. :)
Everyone who views this, check out "Just Another Flower's" channel.
You won't be disappointed. Thanks!
Jarod McCusker Jul 2018
The song of Lilly Flower and her King

(Lily flower) - out of your eyes gleans the love that sheppards my heart, there is no fragrance in all of the earth as sweet! I have watched you from afar, and I have seen your heart, and it is better than that of great noble princes.

(us)- come keeper of my heart, our vineyard is ripe, let us indulge the fruits of our garden,

(Lily flower) early grapes blossoms are the nectar of our wines.

(Lily flowers King)) drink of my cup, all that is mine is yours, I delight in your pleasure.

( Lily flower) my ******* awaken, pleasing my loves desire, I am our shepperdes.

(Lily flowers King) beautiful Lilly flower, my bride

(Lily flower) yes,my king? I sense your stirring, my love. My heart follows in procession, anticipating our every move.

(us) come closer, I long for your embrace, like a gazelle leaping high along the meadow, I imagine our Holy union, our marriage beneath the heavens, I will wear on my arm the seal of our love.

(Lily flowers king) [imagining her saying] sow my feild ,move within me, let us sing our Union song "the wedding of the halves" uniting into one, beloved let our breathe flow,and hearts tempo join, let us join with the infinite, the holy union of the Divine masculine and feminine!let us promise God before the foundations of the earth our love ! Can you hear the delight? the land cries out! raising the banner of our love! and how sweet are the melodies of the turtle doves!

(Lily flower) [ softly steps in to remind her king ] My King! the youth of my love, speak subtly, the time is near look to the horizon, I adjure you my king, to remind you.. even as my passion burns! that ****** desires in haste risk loving relationships. When the time is right, we will lock away our treasure and share only between us.

( Lily flowers king ) O, my love! what have I done! Never will I risk our precious love I will always protect it. Pardon my desires- yearning, haste!, wisdom flows from your lips, and gladdens my heart! Your wisdom of love is a gift in Holy union, I will treasure taking heed to your voice and insight! Then only then , will I eat from our appletree, there we will express our love, in the secret gardens , under our appletree, we will lye, sharing our sweetest treasure, having weathered many joyful winter's past, we've yearned, anxiously,waiting, Holy union- The fullness of our apple tree!

Wisdom is good, the labor of our love rests upon our hands , the sun and the moon govern the times and the seasons, in which we labor,the sunrise awakens the dew of the morning, a new experience arises: the morning light unveils. All has a time of fullness, so to does our love!. Lily flower , friend of my dreams ,I will build our castle around your youth, and there we shall remain securely, the eternal sting of death will not overcome our love, there is only one part immeasurable between us, where the throne of God sits! pouring out blessing and guidance, God's grace, and our love, shall overcome death, forever we will grow!. I am becoming long stroked, well refinded,my eyes heavy, I will not quentch the spirit, in my dreams I will find you, together lets rest, I await the illuminating sun rise of the morning dew. Goodnight Lily flower I love you
Savio Apr 2013
She works at the Flower Shop
selling Roses to the young boys
selling Lilies to widow'd women
white ones
red ones
purple ones
orange ones
She works at the Flower Shop
Clipping the stems of the Lilac
Sweeping the Flower Shops hard wood floor
Insects with wings get inside of the Flower Shop
Insects with wings hide in the openings of the flowers
She listens too the small radio
Attached to the wall
That is painted white
This color
This hue
This brand of Light
Does not compliment her complexion
The Flower Shop's painted white walls are too compliment the complexion of the flowers
Their colors
Their height
Their thickness
Their meaningfulness
The Radio attached to the wall plays Beethoven
The Flower Shop is full of
and White Painted Walls
and a Girl
Who waters the flowers
Who goes outside to smoke her 100's
Who sees the Flowers die
Rust brown and gray
bending towards the ground
The Flower Shop Girl
Shooting up ******
While Laying on the
Flower Shop's hardwood floor
freshly swept
next to the Amaranthine flower
filled with insects

Sonata No.14
Movement No.3
sai Nov 2017
I am a flower, a flower that was near its last days, hanging on its last petals
Till one day he came
He came into my life and suddenly it started to rain.
Suddenly I started to regain my color and my petals and I felt beautiful.
And it was all because of him
I only heard his voice, never saw his colors.
He was so distant from me but close
His voice was like a trail and I wanted to explore it so badly, to finally thank him.
I finally worked up the courage and every step I took, I said a reason why I loved him, why I wanted to thank him, how he changed my life, for the better.
I was finally there. About to look up.
I thought he was a flower just like me.
but he was much more

He was a rose, with the reddest petals I have ever seen. He was beautiful
But along with the reddest petals, he had the biggest thorns.
Even though we were close, I still couldn't touch him.
I realized he can only be with his kind
Not just a mere flower.
But he kept insisting
Trying to water me with his kind words.
But I knew when to stop
I knew when was enough.
A rose can't be with a mere flower.
A rose is too beautiful, and the mere flower is just distant from beautiful.

but the rose kept loving the flower, as the flower walked away.

the rose saw the flower lose all its petals

The rose saw the flower lose hope

and when the flower died, so did the rose

Even in death they were different but still just as in love.

If only the flower knew the rose was just like her

A seeker

Maybe then they could've stayed together
MoonChild Aug 2016
Her name is Sarah
And between her legs
A flower.
A Begonia
Lush, Desirable, and Sweet

Her name is Olivia
And between her legs
A flower.
A Bird of Paradise
Exotic & Captivating, Deep

Her name Tanya
And between her legs
A flower.
A Calla Lilly
Intuitive, Dreamy, Refined

Her name is Sumi
And between her legs
A flower.
A Dahlia
Grace, Strength, & Valued

Her name is Diana
And between her legs
A flower.
A Moonflower
Delicate & Feminine

My name is Hannah
And between my legs
A flower.
An Azalea
Fragile, Sweet, & Tender
Used this site for Symbolism:
Peter Simon Jun 2018
If once in your life you come across a beautiful flower,

Don't pick it up,

It'll die.

At first, the flower might dance in the wind;

Happy, with its face beaming brightly.

It might even say, "I'm so glad you plucked me from that boring bush."

You take the flower home,

Learn its name.

You do all sorts of things together;

And you ask yourself how on earth you even lived,

Without this flower to liven you up;

How did you even manage to push through,

Devoid of a companion to boost you up.

You suddenly feel so light like floating, you wonder why.

Then, the flower makes you realize,

How sometimes, emptiness can be heavy too.

And that you’ve bottled too much emptiness for so long now.

But you picked the flower.

One at a time, its petals would slowly fall

“When you pick a beautiful flower, it dies.”

Once you realize this,It's too late.

The flower might survive a couple more days,

If you place it in water;

But this won't stop the unavoidable.

It won’t save it;

It won't prevent it from succumbing to its painful death.

You’ll place it gently on the ground.

Tell it you’re sorry over and over again.

But, at this time, it’s had enough of your *******.

It has gotten tired of hearing how sorry you are all the time.

It’ll tell you how lazy you are,

Because all you do is stay inside your ******* cave.

It’ll tell you how you are never contented,

You say, the flower takes the stress away.

But here you are, still stressed with ******* life.

It’ll tell you you’re too weak,

Because you can’t lift yourself up with all this hate behind you;

You always fall on your knees and learned to walk with them instead.

The flower will tell you that all you did was hurt it.

From the moment you cut it from its stem,

To plucking the unwanted leaves it had.

It’ll tell you how drained it became when you snatched it,

That it can no longer smile like it used to,

And that you should carry the emptiness again;

This time, all by yourself.

The flower withers.

So if once in your life you come across a beautiful flower,

Don’t **** it.
© Peter Simon
Jenni Littzi Sep 2019
I  don’t always have all of the answers
And I must take a chance here and there
In fact, more questions may arise
Than would I could handle at a time

A flower blooms, a petal falls
The wind picks up and swirls it all
Where it ends up, is anyone’s call
That is life, you’re taking a draw

A flower is picked, used for its beauty
The prettiness fades, it’s no longer newly
We get our time to shine on this planet
Like a flower grows when it’s planted

Good times come, bad times go
It is like playing a game of tug-a-war
Wake me up before it’s time to die
Let realize what I have in life

A flower blooms, a petal falls
The wind picks up and swirls it all
Where it ends up, is anyone’s call
That is life, you’re taking a draw

A flower is picked, used for its beauty
The prettiness fades, it’s no longer newly
We get our time to shine on this planet
Like a flower grows when it’s planted

Changing seasons, changes reasons
It is the stroll of life we’re in

A flower blooms, a petal falls
The wind picks up and swirls it all
Where it ends up, is anyone’s call
That is life, you’re taking a draw

A flower is picked, used for its beauty
The prettiness fades, it’s no longer newly
We get our time to shine on this planet
Like a flower grows when it’s planted
PoserPersona Jun 2019
flower, flower in full bloom
the skies are covered gray
keeping the sun at bay
yet you keep shining true

flower, flower holding out
the others have wilted
into a field melted
yet you keep growing stout

flower, flower stretching leaves
the rains of decadence
has flooded nature's sense
yet you keep make believe
Tatiana Sep 2015
How silly is the little flower
to think that it has such a large impact
on anyone's life.
It's as if it says
"I know I am just a flower
and it's well past the hour
but you picked me from the rest
so I must be the best.
So when I leave,
don't forget me please."

But it's just a little flower
that was chosen for no other reason
than to bring a little bit of happiness.
Yet the flower still speaks,
"I don't understand what you understand
but I know that I am not anything grand.
But it was me that you chose.
You watered me with the hose
and I have grown to be old
but now everything I feel is cold."

Poor little flower,
how long have you been here?
Shivering and shriviling.
But bless your soul you still speak.
"I know some time has passed
since I saw you last.
But I remember your sad smile
and how you had to sit down for awhile.
Your thin white hair has become flat
and I no longer see you sit where you sat."

That small, old flower,
drooped one last time.
With one last sigh
the flower picker spoke.
"I'm sorry little flower
it is well past my hour
and you're as thin as my hair
that has become so brittle without care.
But don't you worry
he is coming in a hurry
and I will not forget you
if you will forget-me-not, too."
© Tatiana

— The End —