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Kit Apr 2015
petals everywhere.
flower petals.
they flood my stomach, overfill into my throat, and spill out of my mouth.
i wretch.
i heave.
i grip the skin on my legs for purchase.
the petals just don't stop.

petals everywhere.
in the morning, when i first wake up, petals.
in the evening, when i'm settling in and feeling lonely, petals.
at night, when i'm alone in the dark with my thoughts, petals.
more wretching and heaving.
the petals just won't stop.

petals everywhere.
when i see your face, petals fly out of my mouth.
out of my mouth and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete.
my knees buckle.
you whisper in a soft voice that could lull me into a blissful slumber.
"are you alright?"
i wretch.
i heave.
why won't these petals go away?

petals everywhere.
my stomach has become a garden.
has become your garden.
your smile blooms inside of me.
your voice blossoms like a morning glory.
i could get the surgery.
i could get it and forget about you.
about the wretching.
about the heaving.
the petals could go away.


petals nowhere.
petals no longer litter the ground i walk.
the bed i sleep in.
the clothes that itch my dry skin.
the sight of your face is now a reminder to me.
a reminder that you are a person.
a person who never appreciated gardening in the first place.
no more wretching.
no more heaving.
no more petals.

i found out what "hanahaki disease" is today.
it's the most animu thing ever, so i decided to write about it.
Niesha Radovanic Aug 2017
do you know what it's like to have a pit in your heart? i can feel it right now i can hear gymnopiede playing in the back ground filling me with a sanity but not enough remember what Rupi said " it was when i stopped searching for home within others and lifted the foundations of home within myself i found there are no roots more intimate than those between a mind and body that have decided to be whole" but instead i fall in love w the little things that i mold into big things to make myself feel important. when people see that i'm stressed and deprived of sleep and love i feel significant to their daily lives.
i want to be the rose in the garden that everyone wants to tend so they can revive the gold medal for the best green thumb. i want to be the bookmark of every bibliophile on the planet but little do they know that rose wants to die that's rose has thorns inside poking her every hope. rose hopes for love but not just any love. rose hopes that a dandelion will come who will be intelligent enough to pull the thorns out and so beautiful she will gasp for another breath just to see their petals. on weekends rose absorbs enough sunlight to get up for work. she tends to the clothing at the retail stop at the local mall and as she folds the endless piles of destroyed denim she admires the many flowers that tend to one another.she can smell the scent of the flickering candles upstairs and she makes her way up to the candle shop on her break she never sets foot inside, she worries the flicker of the flame will catch her petals. rose doesn't want to be alone when it happens she wants a dandelion to come and save her from the flame she wants dandelion to roar as loud as he can and blow the flame out. and be there ready to sweep rose off her stem. rose wants everyone to be happy she try's her hardest to make sure her garden has enough light and water and that everyone's petals aren't frowning. rose has tried too hard she ends up being the loneliness one her garden. she returns to her shop after break she goes back to folding the same endless pile of denim and she admires the buttercup walking with the california poppy looking at the lights hanging from the ceiling. the dutch iris and the crocus intertwining their petals. honesty and honeysuckle are pursing the petals together under the mistletoe. rose gathers her tools and makes her way to her wheel barrow parked by the restrauants she passes the children frolicking in the lot and she catches the heart beat of excitement of the little girl who's eyes are glued to the ipad that is playing alice and wonderland and rose can hear the garden scene and she cringes and feels like she's been swallowed by a world who doesn't know what passion is. rose wonders where the little girls mother is and she catches her mother sitting on the lap of the magnolia and she longs to be a mother but a mother who watches alice in wonderland with her child and frolics with her kids in the parking lot but pays attention to the cars coming just in case her motherly instincts have to kick in.
rose returns to her garden and flips thru the channels hoping to find a romance movie on. rose does this to her self. she absorbs her self into all the love she can get because deep downside she fears she will never find her dandelion. rose finds her self drowning in an ocean of tears. she crys out to the garden are my petals not light enough? is my stem to thick?. rose wants to dig herself a grave and burry herself there with the fake petals of a dandelion so that one day when the walkers in the cemetery hear the clanking of her stem crying out for love they will dig her up and see how much she coveted the love of a dandelion and they will find the real petals and place them next to her.  rose will tear honey because that's the sweetest thing she knows she will wipe her tears and lick the honey off of her petals. rose doesn't want to hide in her sunken city of petals she wants to tell you who she is. hello i am rose.
i've been trying to get rid of the file cabinets in my brain that i have been organized alphabetically. A- aster i love you and i promise your prayers for a new kidney will be granted. B- bleeding heart i want you to know i will drive you in wheel barrow to the hospital so you
can be sewed up. C- carnation please don't fret the world loves you and im so sorry you have a price tag that will eventually be ripped off when the children at the elementary school down the street buy you on february 14th just know that you're so much more to me than a valentine's day gift. D- daffodil you're too precious to feel unwanted your lover will come soon.i can hear the crys of them but please go back to the bed and sleep. i'm able to open my pedals up and hear the weeping of a dandelion "thank you for being there for them and just know i've been hear all along, rose. you're tired i can tell by the wrinkles of your palms please promise me rose that you will baptize yourself into the ocean of love that you keep drowning in. " rose pulls the dead roots that are pinning her down in her grave and gasps for another breath to see dandelion before the roots come back from under and tug her back down she is able to string her broken english together and whisper " dandelion i already have"
Rockie Dec 2014
Rose Petals
     Pretty and red
          Wilting and scattered
         Rose Petals
      Pretty and bleeding
Rose Petals
  See the Rose Petals
         Falling and silky
      Rose petals
   Both Dead
And Dying
Em MacKenzie Sep 2018
Bear with me, I need to gather up the nerve,
to completely shower you with the love that you deserve.
You're thinking how to best throw the ball into a curve,
and I'm sinking, drowning in the words I still reserve.

We're sailing through the air
like rose petals from your hair,
lining the path to a room we can not enter.
We're beautifully torn
but the petals lack the thorn,
but still they ***** me and I bleed;
beauty claims the role of my tormentor.

Live with me, I'm not sure I can do it on my own,
keep me breathing, if you got an extra lung to loan.
I've been seeing stars and speckles in this twilight zone,
this struggle's repeating, look at how damaged I am,
and how quick I've grown.

We're sailing through the air
like rose petals ripped apart bare,
leading us to a door we could never open.
Our connection was born
but the petals lack the thorn,
the ****** and cuts come from all left unspoken.

The bouquet of your skin has dissolved
and the stems stretch further than we admit.
If nothing is started, it can't be resolved,
and I'm holding baby's breath; my stomach a deep pit.

I'm trying to solve a puzzle of invisibility
but my hands are broken and I lack the ability,
to decipher if the hues of grass in the pieces change shade,
if there's a side that's greener or just shadows cast on each blade.

We're sailing through the air
like rose petals without a care,
leading us into a trap we can't escape.
I tried my best to warn
that the petals still had a thorn,
it just seems now that it's a different shape.
SøułSurvivør Mar 2015

on the breeze
in a swoon
laments in
blue and purple
are the
petals of the moon

waned a
crescent of a flower
waxed to
cabbage rose
now the
tight held tithes
sift down

lying in the grass
of a dark
petals find me
moon's offerings

i inhale their
their light sweet perfume
they cover me
with kisses

(c) 2014
(c) march 12, 2015

Dedicated to my dear friend Jonnie... she makes me happy!

This is one of my most popular & beloved poems, my dear! I hope you enjoyed it!

God Bless & Happy Thanksgiving!
Deedre Deaton May 2010
If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood
of soldiers
shot before
they could return the favor.

If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it the blood
leaking down teenage arms
those that so dearly
want pain to end.

If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood
of those murdered
whose lives ended
without meaning.

If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood
of a broken heart
that doesn’t bleed,
but wishes it did.

If these petals are soaked in blood,
Then it is the blood left unspilled
that lives to let live
and dies only when death takes it
to soak these petals.
Ja'Mya Kidd Feb 2014
In a dark room at the top of the hill
Last summer flowers brought in from the chill
She placed them just so in a vase of pure white
In hopes they would last through a few more hard nights

With daffodils yellow and daisies bright red
Warming the nightstand beside her cold bed
There in the gloom on colorful display
Two petals had wilted much to her dismay

Stroking the softness of each fallen frond
Knowing to stem they could no longer bond
She watched one more petal float down to the floor
A tear slowly fell as she then plucked three more

Plucking the petals in lost reverie
“He loves me not but does he love me”
One for the moments they shared in delight
Two for the secrets revealed in the night

Three for the dreams and the wishes so pure
Four for reality’s hardened, cold cure
Five petals lost for the time they were wed
Six fell like tears to alight on her bed

Seven plucked petals to remind of his song
And then, just like him, all the petals were gone
There in a dark room at the top of the hill
Blown petals returned into winter’s cold chill
Hinata May 2012
through the roses petals, the rose saw love for the first time.
it saw a awkward man holding it to the girl who had looked happy and was beautiful in body and mind.
the girl held it delicately to the roses' delight,
and it was bathed in her beautiful light.
through the roses petals, it saw the pure, happy relationship between the man and his wife,
it saw them cherishing their life.
the time they spent together was cherished and the awkward man opened up to her, not like the first time the rose laid eyes on him.
the light and love in his eyes never dimmed.
through the roses petals, it watched the girl,
who seemed like the man was her whole world.
the light and beauty of her smile never seemed to fade,
and it seems like when she was with him, she was in a daze.
through the roses petals, it saw them getting older,
and still the love between them still strong, the kind that many desired.
their love kept strong through good and bad,
it was something that some people could ever had.
through the roses petals on its final days,
the girl was in bed, very sick but her eyes never losing their beauty or daze.
it saw the man sitting by her side with concern in his eyes,
as the rose dies.
through the roses petals, it saw the man lay by the girls side,
he was also sick and both of them were going to die.
as the rose shed his last petal,
the last thing the rose saw was the couple.
the couple knew they were going to die but nothing separated them,
as the rose shed its last petal, so did the couple, who held each others hands as they breathed their last breath.
the last days of the rose's life, it saw them stay together even in death.
Marcello Oct 2010
The flower greets the new day with
   petals opening to the summer breeze.
Innocent is the flower whose
   petals are envied by all others.

The flower stands alone with
   petals welcoming bird and insect.
It is the mother and father whose
   petals fly away with the children to play.

The warm summer breeze lifting these
   petals higher and farther than ever before.
They are helpless and must rely
   on the warm breeze to carry them.

Soon, the petals begin to lose color,
   They begin to fade and fall
Towards the earth again
   Where birth and death unite.
Jessica Mesnick Jun 2012
Flower Petals Fall,
Fall To The Ground,
They Fall Softly Without A Sound.
The Wind Comes With A Sudden Whisper,
Picking The Petals Up In A Sudden Shiver.
The Wind Takes Them Far Away From The Stem,
Puts Them With Their New Petal Friends.
Next Day Comes,
Flower Petals Fall,
They Fall To The Ground,
They Fall Softly Without A Sound.
The Wind Comes With A Sudden Whisper,
Picking The Petals Up In A Sudden Shiver.
It Takes Them Far Away From The Stem,
Leaving Them With Their New Petal Friends.
Few Days Later The Petals Fall,
They Fall To The Ground,
They Fall Softly Without A Sound.
But The Wind Never Comes,
Never Sends A Shiver,
Not Even The Most Silent Of All The Whispers.
The Petals Are Never Picked Up From The Ground,
Only Left There Fallen,
Without A Sound.
oh my stars Oct 2015
at first i saw only your petals,
a deep red blanket of acceptance
and i fell into you longingly.
it was a bed of comfort
that i had not felt before.
and for a few moments it lasted;
i felt your love
and i gave you mine.
but i fell through the petals
and became tangled
in the thorns of your true self.
you did not love me.
you needed to feel loved
and i was the only one
foolish enough to fall.
i am a fool.
i was terrified of you
and i did not leave.
you destroyed me.
with each thorn
you pricked my heart
and out seeped the
blood of my broken soul.
your kisses were not love,
they were saliva and teeth and passion.
you never ******* loved me.
you used me
you forced me
you tricked me
and i believed you
with all my trusting naivety.

your petals withered
and died
and now you weep.
you tell them it is my fault.
all i ever did was trust you.
i saw your beautiful petals,
to me, they promised an escape.
but instead you offered me entrapment
amidst the thorns of your madness.
you are the one who killed my spirit
yet you act like i created sadness.
your tears are nothing
more than the guilt inside
the ruins of your mind.

you cry because you need attention.
do not be fooled:
attention is not love.
you crave pity
but no-one will give it to you because
you ******* killed me.

you ******* killed me.
i should be the one who cries.
i had the courage to escape your prison
but do not mistake that for the end of love.
it is you who ended the love
long before it even began.
you hid your thorns
you flaunted your petals
you tricked me
you lied to me
and it ******* killed me.
you ******* killed me.

why do you get to cry
when all you cry for is attention.
why must i cry in silence?
why must i cry alone?
when it is me who is hurting
because it is me who was blooming with love.


please don't hide your thorns for the next girl.
be your petals.
you pretend you're sad because you want pity, you want attention whilst i am too frightened to allow a single tear. you never loved me, you just loved being loved and it ******* killed me.
OVC Dec 2013
I imagine petals of light pink roses or of cherry blossoms gliding in the air
Slowly, they turn and fall, gliding through the empty space

I see a pretty woman, with mesmerizing hair and pretty ears and earlobes, sitting there, in a pink dress and with an elegant white hat
Her hair is pulled back into a knot and she plays with little flowers dancing with the wind
I cannot see her face, but I know that she is beautiful and I know that I feel something for her
Perhaps she has blue eyes and small pink lips
Or possibly she has penetrating dark eyes and luscious lips

This woman, is surrounded by the pink petals
Flowing with the gusts of wind that blow the pink dress and white hat

Hundreds, thousands of petals that surround her like little butterflies in the time of love,
Turn and swirl freely, spinning vertically and horizontally
They fall and fall, as if from trees atop the clouds that hang above
But then they rise, too, can you see? Rising, flowing, going everywhere with the waves of blowing air
The lady holds her hat and grabs a petal that far-off mountains and the trees, the rivers and the streams, dedicate to her.
The petal, smooth and delicate, a reflection of her tender hands
The petal, pleasantly aromatic like her fragrance
The petal, soft with subtle shades of pink, a reflection of her gentle nature and all things that surround her being

Lost in my thoughts, I imagine a fragrant atmosphere, with scent of pink rose petals,
And there, a sweet and pretty woman sits surrounded by floating petals in the air.
I accept criticism,

Muchas gracias =)
I am a rose with petals falling
As soft as velvet
While a boat rocks
Back and
Swaying to an impossibly luscious, yet a silent song.

The petals fall,
Gliding into a neat pile,
Unused but sitting worn out,
As if they were just sent cascading,
Wishing luck at a party,
A wedding,
A funeral.
The petals shiver at the thought.
It was not a good idea to think that way now.
The wind caresses the petals
And carries them far,
Far from where they were drowning in memories.
They were no longer old and forgotten.

As the wind carries them along,
The petals listens to--
And adds to--
The silent song
That everyone listens to every day
Without hearing its sweet harmonies.
That is why it is silent--
Except to the rose.
But the melody is still soft
And wanting to fade away,
Just like the rose did,
Until the wind retrieved it from invisibility.
The wind twirls the rose and the petals dance to the silent music.

When the wind is gone,
The petals fall to the floor again:
But the silent music still plays and the invisible petals dream of dancing.
Rocondite Definition: A hidden meaning
pri Dec 2018
your name on my lips,
a whisper in the night
-ten thousand enunciations,
do you even know my name?
what’s my name?

they fall like rain
white and pink and red and blue,
fluttering wings, little butterflies
you call them pretty,
as they cascade to the floor,
little whirlwinds,
tiny storms.

roses, roses,
they all fall down,
pick up my petals
i’ll be ashes in the ground.

in my dreams,
you twirl me around,
soft hands in my hair,
eyes on mine,
golden mornings and moonlit nights.

each morning, morning i wake in your arms,
every night we’re under the garden’s bridges,
a soft waltz,
for softer caresses,
and yet the petals fall all around.

roses, roses,
they all fall down,
pick up my petals
i’ll be ashes in the ground.

i don’t dream anymore,
all my days i lay in the sunlight
-dreams of mornings fill my head,
as i grasp rose petals,
strewn like dreams all around.

summer turns to winter,
spring won’t come for me,
the last spring i’ll ever know,
there are rose petals on top of me and i’m six feet below.  

roses, roses,
they all fell down,
you didn’t pick up my petals
so now i’m ashes in the ground.
Julia Van Winkle Mar 2015
I am not a Daisy. I am a human.
Why I am not a Daisy?
I cannot sprout through concrete to meet the sun,
I cannot gather dew drops on my petals.
I don’t have petals, instead I have arms.

Arms can be called petals.
I don’t see why not.
My petals are scarred.
They hold the history of my hidden past.
Opposite of beautiful,
Opposite of innocent.

I went to my friend’s
and she’d say, “Daisy, Do you like Disneyland?”
“Yes I do. I haven’t been since I was five.”
She tells me that we’re going to go to Disneyland.
That we’re going to be five years old again.
So we go to Disneyland.

We ride the rides,
We watch the little boys and girls laugh and play,
They don’t seem to notice my petals.
They don’t seem to know of the twisted ways they can think.
They don’t seem to know that one day, they’ll have to pay taxes
and work a job.

Nothing is the same as when I was five years old.
Now I know.
It is no longer the happiest place on Earth,
because I am not. A Daisy.
The petals fell from off the branch,
I caught them falling as by chance,
And saw them land within my hand,
No one but me could understand.

The beauty of the flowering petals,
Were soft and silky unlike metal,
And colors bright had faded so,
Was I the last to truly know?

Then cast the withering petals down,
Upon the damp and hardened ground,
And walked upon them with callous thought,
For faded beauty so long gone bought.

But comes tomorrow another day,
Where beauty comes in how it may,
And more and more the petals show,
That I am really the first to know.
KatsaNovari Aug 2014
I am a Forget-Me-Not,
budding into spring.
I am shy in my shady place;
I still wish to dream.
My petals will remain around me,
Until I feel safe.

You've planted me, watched me grow.
You've whispered words of encouragement, promising me I'll be so much more.
I reach out, as far as I can, my feet have taken root into the soil.
My leaves want to reach you, but you've turned away.
My courage falters, I retreat back to security.

You've returned. My heart flutters with joy.
It's okay, I want to tell you. I understand.
I am not the only flower in this bed. Of course you have more.
Many require your attention more than I do.
It'd be selfish of me to consider otherwise.
Just Forget-Me-Not.

I can feel my petals unfurling. Soon I will be beautiful.
But I'm slow.
My brothers and sisters are ahead of me. Why won't I grow?
I want to ask you, but you're so busy. I shan't disturb you. It'd be wrong of me.
I can do it myself, I know I can. They have, why can't I?
Please Leave-Me-Not.

I can feel the taunts now, the humored jeers.
I thought they were funny at first, but now they're spoken too often.
I can no longer deny them.
They came from my fellow peers first, it was all in good fun.
Yet things have changed, and each uttered word is a jab of pain.
Stop. Hurt-Me-Not.

I was one of the first you've sown, yet I have not grown.
I feel the youngest, my siblings tower over me.
I want to join them, to show what I can do.
But my confidence is gone. I wish to hide in their shadow.
If I am not noticed, I cannot be made fun of. I won't be criticized.
I'm still here, Forget-Me-Not.

Tell me the words again. Tell me what I'm capable of.
I need your voice, your reassurance. But I dare not ask.
I am not weak. You've said so yourself. So why am I still a bud?
Can you hear me? Do you see?
In this mass of plants you tend to, in this bed of problems presented, I am buried beneath, my own only my own.
As small as me, but please, Forget-Me-Not.

I'm dying. I thirst, but no water graces my face. It does not soften the soil the petals of my family block.
It's the survival of the fittest, my only chance my silence.
I must stay hidden, not draw attention to myself. But you notice me. Sometimes you do.
Your presence draws me always, it's the only thing I reach for. I'll stretch until I'm nearly pass the other flowers.
Just let me have the sun for five minutes, I implore you. Ignore-Me-Not.

Your smile makes me want to, but then you laugh.
I've made a mistake. I've shown how stupid I could be.
I try. I really do. I try my best, but when I attempt anything, I make things worse.
I cower back to my place, wrapping my petals around me, my only solace.
My siblings stand tall around me, and whether it's honor or arrogance, I wish I had it.

Regardless of my shortcomings, I don't blame you. They're my own fault.
Because of them I cannot grow, I hold myself back.
There are times you try to help. You urge me to grow stronger, and I want to oblige.
But you push. You push too hard, too harshly. My instinct is to withdraw into myself,
But I've made you sad. You think I hate you. And that makes me sad, and angry.
I want to tell you: Force-Me-Not.

You have your own difficulties. It's selfish of me to ever think of a bad thought of you. It's not your fault.
I want to help, but your own experiences have made me cautious.
There's no such thing as love. It's always one-sided.
Even as the bees buzz around, I keep myself hidden. No matter how friendly they seem, what promise the wind brings,
I know the truth. I've seen it happen to you. I don't want to endure that heartbreak, that stupidity.

Despite my own consolation, my own redemption to your faults, I feel the anger burn within me.
Always the nagging inside my head, the jab of rage when I can't do something right.
Your words always echoing in my mind: You're grown. You're not stupid. Figure it out. I know you can.
Then why can't I ******* do it?! What am I doing wrong?!
I need you to teach me; my teacher, my sensei. You've taught every single one of them. What about me?

Each time I think you'll turn to me, each time I feel that you care,
Your attention averts elsewhere. Always someone before me, always someone else who needs you.
Like someone cheated, I am plagued by jealousy. I disgust myself with my petty emotions,
What right do I have? What do I have that makes me more important?
But would it **** to have five minutes where I'm the center of attention?

It's a battle inside,
Logic against Pride.
I feel alone,
Though I know I'm not.
Do you see me in this garden
You've reaped and sown?
Can you hear my voice over your own?
Take on the world, I know you're able.
But do not forget what's beneath your feet,
I am not a fable.
In this unbearable heat,
I am still here.

Tend to your children, to those brokenhearted. To the confused and betrodden you save.
Those with no home find it within you. But don't I live here too?
Do all of these things, give it all you've got.
But please... Please....
First poem I'm putting on here due to a suggestion from someone I know. She encouraged me to join this site, so I'm a little new, but hopefully not for long!
Marissa Adele Nov 2014
You’d be mistaken if you said the stones
didn’t feel hotter than the sand beneath your feet.
Casting circles along the ground, light
shimmers between the trees. Flowers
reach up to it, along the way shedding petals.
I walk on, gathering about me my dress.

I’ve found recently that I’m happiest in a dress.
Reminiscing memories of prom, I imagine a floor of stones
instead of tile and a corsage of intricate petals
And a sea of feet,
Swaying to a slow song, like flowers
sway into the light

in Sanibel. Imagine our venue as Sanibel where light
brightens every picture and blesses every dress;
where the appearance of flowers
isn’t just a corsage or pretty weeds poking through stones;
where sand adornes feet
and wind means a breeze of perfumed petals.

Twirling down from the trees, petals
blink with color in the light
and stick to ocean-water bathed feet
shaded by my dress.
Days are spent winding along stones
of Sanibel’s flowing garden of flowers

And it becomes captivating. I find elegance in flowers
like prom attendees. They bat their eyes like petals
alight softly on stones.
I see so much light,
I would twirl and twirl and twirl in my dress,
spinning on feet

And if my feet
never touch the ground, at least they’ve danced to lush flowers
and at least my dress
has spilled out around me, meeting petals
soaking light,
cloaking stones.

In Sanibel, I dress for bare feet.
I let myself not be heavy as a stone, I let myself flower.
And I collect petals, to remind me things wither without light.
This poem is a Sestina that I wrote for my creative writing class.
Joseph Zenieh Apr 2018

You want to write about your love,
Don't use a sheet with ink stuff.
A subject as pure as white dove
On rose's petals you should graph.

The petals so soft and fragile
Can convey meaning of great depth.
Paper for love is not worthwhile
As love is dearer than huge wealth.

Don't write about it with your pen.
Your pen is plastic and can't feel.
Write it with rose's thorns which then
The thorns to petals can appeal.

Between the petals and the spike,
You can have hope mixed with great pain.
The pain that Cupid caused to Psyche
Can't be conveyed on sheet by pen.

the rose
is dying the
lips of an old man ******

the petals

mysteriously invisible mourners move
with prose faces and sobbing,garments
The symbol of the rose

with grieving feet and

against the margins of steep song
a stallion swetneess    ,the

lips of an old man ******
the petals.
I wish I could be as vibrant and bold as a sunflower
Wish my petals could stretch towards the sun
in hopes of growing. I wish these pale painted
faces would stare in awh instead of disgust.
I wish I was as yellow as a sunflower
or maybe an oddly pink tone fleshed with red
I want my color to be praised not discussed
like dirt being picked out of fingers

I have come to the realization that I am a sunflower
Beautiful, bold, and magical
My brown petals stretch out from limb to limb
meeting at my bud with a smile so dazzling
and eyes small but fill with love and hope.

I am a sunflower in the boldest of ways possible
like coffee with no sugar no cream. I am loved like Jupiter
loves Juno, My brightness is appreciated like a full moon
at 12 midnight. I could fill a whole field with my petals
just for your grazing but you don't deserve it.

I am a sunflower. What are you?
Chapter XXVIII
Mashiach of Judah Part VI
Miracle VII - Gethsemane / Meshuva Foundations

The relaunches of the feet begin. The twelve Gigas camels stand up, with their even fingers; they would begin to detach with their ungulate nails the fat deposits of the six remaining camels. They ripped the epidermis with their nails to pour out the oil and grease lamps that they would need to distribute the Full Moon on each palm of each component. The moon was festive, he walked everywhere and he imagined himself in the court of King David, lethargic in his cubicles at the first light of the second dream of the morning. Undivided walked in procession through the source of the change in the socio-religious paradigm that held them together, they were Raeder and Petrobus, Alikanto with a golden mount on his small back, the Lepidoptera, bumblebees, bees and wasps, they walked silently and on tiptoe over the first level of wet wind at dawn, many of them alighted on the backs of the immune camels, to advance with them to the starting point of restored Gethsemane.
In their phylogeny they collaterally impute the taxonomy that belongs to the camelid genus, which is a taxonomic category that is located between the Judah family and the Middle East in the buried ecclesiastical species; thus a genus of a group of organisms is favored that in turn can be divided into several species. They, being strictly herbivorous, the musculature differs from other ungulates, since the legs are attached to the body only in the upper part of the thigh, instead of being connected from the knee upwards by skin and muscle, therefore they will be made very easy to connect with the flying insects so you don't have to kneel. While the six that sectioned the deposits of the other six, they will remain stationed and operated, until their superficial wounds heal, before leaving for the port of Jaffa. On this long journey until dawn they must remain standing on their foot pads, to resist the final farewell rite of the twelve caverns, when they leave the placental sites that they had developed with the Primogeniture to empower the vestigial area of the rescued Aramaic word. This will be to grant and scale the prosperity of having the signs of vitality intertwined, with each reminiscence of the calls and responses of the messages for the "Propitius This Humanity" that is projected in the secular future. This will be generated by external stimulus each time the intention to communicate with the ceremonial of existence - life - deaths - fullness is presented, thus the voice of the greatest incisive devotional forces will resemble, grabbing or grasping the smallest voices that may even overlooked or misunderstood when the Golden Gate of Jerusalem opens.

From the top very high you can see the Gigas species walking with six chandeliers, these species wade with their artiodactyl locomotion, towards a fluctuation on the flames of the chandeliers towards the rock of the Mashiach. While the other camels were recovering from their wounds, they looked with their serene and very alert eyes for the proselytizing nunciature that channeled the reactions of the Hexagonal Progeny, thus being absolved from the commitment of the prayers for the new set with the atmospheric ordering ceremony. in Gethsemane with the voices of the Messiah, with the frame, volume and reverberation to flood with light and sounds in all geographic areas that have not had a subscription. While the Gigas trod the grounds with their ungulate nails, Vernarth and Alikanto, Saint John the Apostle, King David, Eurydice, Raeder and Petrobus (The Hexagonal Primogeniture), took solemn vows before such an episode. It was just a short time before dawn and even the moon disputed with other stars to shine more for such a great event…., As is surprising, at the moment that everything would seem of stillness and the gestation of winged embryos, appearing from the top of the Olivos Berna , near the Cherubim. They came with the Mashiach, which brought them charitable news ..., he could be seen in a deep field, in two points of clarity of his white robe, full of golden and blue lace ... with Lepidoptera around the ..., and by the contour flowing the celestial radiosities - crimson.

Meshuva White Mantle

Descending through the foliage of the lighted and previously illuminated olive trees on the northeast ***** of the orchard, the Cherubim and Archangel Michael and Gabriel came with the decided parallelism of sixfold the interpretation manifested by the lepidoptera, in order to consolidate the institution on the north side of Gethsemane. as a sanctified area of Aramaic prayer and devotion, of an absolute naturalization of classification of the Cherubim and Lepidoptera as winged tetra and cultivators of the phylogenetic transmission of the pollen-garden on the opening of the gynoecium of the Olive Tree Bern, in the Valley of Olives, and the taxonomic choice in hierarchical order of the species and the geo-referencing of the aerosismic corridor and the narrow passage between Bethhelem and Getsemaní.

On the tops of the olive trees were the Cherubim and the Lepidoptera, they fluttered through the flowery branches intertwined with the Messiah's tunic that had been descending with an accent of Torah grace, then a light of pre-dawn fireflies re-blooms on his face ..., they brought a million beams of another thousand beam groups to be born among the first lights of the day. The Lepidoptera ascended by oval interval and in a spiral path through the petiole until the fifth generation of  Rapa or Eskimo of forty flowers, with four white petals in phylogenetic synchrony with the Cherubim and Lepidoptera with four elemental portions, to deliver the fundamental membrane that will generate the physiognomy of the Messiah between the transposed and rosy ruddy lights of the Messiah's face, with the cross-shaped texture of themselves, on his shoulders of Capernaum dew. The Esquimo, or the flowers would grow in clusters of between ten to forty flowers in perfect series, depending on the variety, each flower would also have four white petals, a bit pulpy, facing in a symmetrical cross, the flower will bring in the center a yellow-orange hue of an arboreal sphinx that would fill with clusters that will gradually transform the appearance of the oily tree, giving white brushstrokes to the olive grove before stinging looks of gallantry. Each flower will dine on its captive pollen for about a week, so that the flowering phase of the olive trees will become before a short duration, but of a messianic period with the cyclical lives of its Syriac Aramaic poetics. The female and hermaphroditic caste will bring you the biblical universal pollen, with quivering stamens and overloaded pistils traveling more than nine and a half kilometers from Bethlemem of the “Kafersuseh” to the orchard. Before the majestic pollination, the archangels Michael and Gabriel will invade two percent of the gynoecium of the flowers, giving way to the Meshuva White Mantle, full of white apotheosis petals. Vernarth rushes to the ground and wallows between the petals, filling his entire body and face with thousands of them, many of them being transfigured into the oily fruit of the Universe palate between the ring finger and the index finger with accent of Purification of the Mikveh, floating like a neutron orbit of Life and Micro Universe only to be ecstatic with the presence of the Messiah in his white robe of petals. Coming down with tassels of Petals of Berne on his robe alba, the Mashiach rushes to Vernarth, takes it and says to him secretly:

Mashiach: “Only you…, in each one of these white cells you are…, and in which you are not, in my memory is reborn as the fruit of the Bern Olive Tree. On the top of this species I heard your prayer, I know who you are and gratitude for resisting this lymphoma so nobly, I took it out of your soul when it was confused with the fresh breeze of the grass that the fungi of pain feed. Immerse yourself in this Mikveh of columns of white petals of Bern, here the voices and words of Aramaic, will run in a row to the right, to **** white in my thoughts of the Gospel, with your miraculous grace when returning to me John the Apostle being exiled by Domitian. Come to me walking on this unleavened bread with Bern olive elixir and let us drink Hanukka wine and its vital dawn that boils with every sip of the glandular thymus and of your aching chest. I am tired I come from far away, but I have taken this road from Emmaus to get you up. Get up and come to My Vernarth ”.
Vernarth erects his purified column with the petals emulating the Mikveh "Purification", he predisposes himself to the Holy path of the Meshuva "Return to God". Thus from today Vernarth is born and revives to continue his journey back to Patmos.

Mashiach says: “The reason for the naive wayward will **** them, and the complacency of fools will destroy them. Your own wickedness will correct you, and your apostasies will rebuke you; know, then, and see that it is bad and bitter so that you abandon the Lord your God, and the fear of me is not in you”

Vernarth says: “We will be loyal and under these lush trees Bern, I will proclaim to the north deciding; May we lead to merciful fidelity and we will all declare it together! We know that you, my Lord, will heal us of our infidelity that is why we have come here, because you are our Lord God. "

Saint John the Apostle replies: “The lion, wolf, leopard, will **** us, destroy and tear us apart, because transgressions and apostasies in great numbers have invaded…, my beloved Mashiach, we have already got rid of the deception and we want the Meshuva back to your ether of the desert accomplice, with the aromas of the flying insects that the Aramaic lexicons bring us from Kafersesuh, to re-graft them into the eternity of your word that crosses the entire universe. The world has sinned against you, the apostasies are innumerable, and we are here to lovingly honor your name. So my people were determined to turn me away, although they call them to the Most High, none at all exalt Him. I will heal their apostasy; I will love them freely, because my anger has turned away from them”

The Garden was eclipsed by the cardinal points, it was delineated by a Cherub from South to North, for the main border that passed through the zenith where the Mashiach would order the promontory of the rock dependent on the placental rocks, which coexist with the twelve inhabitants that They had been erected with their eyes closed and open by the light of Faith. The border that Vernarth and the Apostle saw it nominally, was connected with the new division of the world of the stagnant word, and in the new route it revived in a perfect cross of west to east, towards the paleo trill of the Palestinian Eagles loaded with incense and sawdust from cut olive trees, for the furniture that they used as input in the lavish displays of the Romans. The magnetic needle will fissure the back of each of the members, engraving the northern magnetic needle and inscribing the Greek micro prose "O Kýrios tha epistrépsei se mas, tis rízes tou Kósmou, ópou krémetai ta skoupídia tou" (The Lord will return the roots of the World, where their concrete waste hangs). Then this voice takes from the vague state, aligning the northern excellence of the Messiah, together with the iron of the blood plasma of Vernarth and the Apostle, to be magnetized northward in the cardinal sublime magnetized.
Shemesh-Sun King order of cardinal parallelism is thus established; North: northern or boreal ruled by Vernarth and Apostle San Juan, South: Meridion or Austral by Etréstles and Eurydice, East: East, rising or rising ruled by Raeder and King David West: West or West. In this way, the insects and animals declaimed the sunrise from the Sun to the Levant before each cup of Chalice synchronous with the intercession of the cross, at the tangential of the horizontal that extends to the west, when both phases of the solar cycle are aligned with the departure of the Bread and the departure of the Messiah from his cloister time. The Alikanto and Petrobus animals will rule with the Northeast and Northwest, while the flying insects will rule the Southeast and Southwest.

Etymological Ellipsis of Ancient Norse Civilizations:

The east-west perimeter is considered as the abscissa axis in a geographic coordinate system, the ordinate axis would be described by the north-south line, which corresponds to the axis of earth rotation. This composition generates four ninety-degree angles that are in turn divided by the bisectors, generating northwest, southwest, northeast, and southeast. Thus the Rose of the Winds is demarcated by the Esquimo Olive´s flower in perfect harmony with the circumference of the horizon. This will attract the lines that intersect verbal and non-verbal, by the abscissa that delineates the guideline of the rock of the Messiah, overflowing with total generosity to shine the caves at dawn, to sprinkle the rays that they lack due to supposed static latitude. In order to parody the line of lethality of the Nordic Gods, being tangential to this new alignment of the earth's axis and laterality coordination, and that only through the Apples of Asynjur can they hope to revive until the final destination of the Gods? This Norse parallelism goes back to us in the Vernarth Chapter II - War Animal in Tel Gomel, where Asgard is mentioned, which in Norse mythology is the one that is conceived on earth, and is a rainbow bridge, Bifrost, that connect with paradise. This etymology will cross the genesis of the plot line of the entire Hellenic epic in the first chapters until it is reiterated here in this Messianic epic, with the demarcation of the limits in Gethsemane, which marks the guideline that intersects the exact point of the Rock of Prayer Aramaic, for the diction of words and cosmogonic interrelationships of cultures and the sparkling use of atavistic language before the year 332 BC and even later, to be projected with the time line of the regressive line of parapsychology after 1820, in the Spanish Revolution of this same work. This demarcation has intertextuality in the coordinates of time-history, to make this neo Gethsemane map the timelessness of the archaeo civilizations, which have cheered and prostrated all the cycles of life and death under the same cardinal laterality precept, acclaiming a God who flowed and created the North, even if he lives or dies, but if he wants to revive he will have to come to his threshold of quantum departure "The Garden of Gethsemane"
Chapter XXVIII
Mashiach of Judah Part VI
Miracle VII - Gethsemane / Foundations
Joe Hill Jan 2014
I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.

I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.

I watch the petals drift away.
Roses have thorns like the pain in my heart…
But they have soft petals like the light that comes in through the window in the early morning…
The blood red color of the petals fills my heart with blue blood cells needing replenishment…
But the soft feel reminds me of the time I caught her eyes and she caught mine….
The thought of falling again brings the bittersweet memories to my mind in a whirlwind of petals floating across the sky….
As I spin with the petals I think of the times I held you close and landed a gentle kiss on your forehead…
And the time I felt my face burn after the words of snakes slipped from my tongue…
The fluttering petals swallow me with the light feeling of love…
This light feeling brings me in a full circle again and I feel like I’m going to be sick…
And then it passes as the crimson petals continue on their way to another couple…
To create moments full of despair and sadness for those who have betrayed the other like…
The thorns on a rose who betray the beauty of the thing….
JRC Jun 2013
Withered thirsting dying petals-
Their plant's pain, who could guess?
The petals fell to gentle rest
Upon this earth for final settle.

Time for them a place has made
Where their essence intact remains
A place that just a mind attains-
Into that time a mind invades.

So, yes, those thirsting petals dried
But yet their color and smell preserved
And by the mind remained conserved
Even after those petals died.
Priya Patel Apr 2011
Fallen Petals

Time has turned
And change is imminent
Together now separate
The petals have fallen

Anxiety into fear
Of the pillars leaving
We have changed direction
But the petals still fall

I will not leave
the petals I have bloomed
I will hold them together
Soon a flower once again
EmperorMoth May 2019
Incognito was my game,
until no one could remember my name.

Drama free all of the time,
until lacking attention became a crime.

Crushing on a star in my eyes,
until it came and broke my skies.

Wishing everything was well,
but left alone in a forgotten hell.

Shedding petals pretty in color,
defined in their detail,
make art as they hover..

No tie to each other,
although they're connected,
one moves, all move,
cause they all get affected.

A part of the tree living life as a family.

But some fall and go shedding the tree,
what a tragedy.
To time cometh their woe and to woe comes great wisdom.

Some petals great,
others harsh,
but all are a part of the kingdom.

I held on to the foreshadowed results of a life without fun,
but all it took to change my mind was the warm light kiss that came from the sun.

Sometimes I focus on perpetually inevitable doom,
but often the time that's stolen by the trees,
and life around me that may bloom.

So if my woes are petals,
then so are my joys,
which some may shift and change,
and sometimes appear coy.

Because life is a place plentiful of joys and woes,
like petals,
what comes will and eventually goes.
PoserPersona Jun 2018
The moon sings the languid flower,
  to bloom at midnight hour
Harmonious feast transpires -
  luminescent choir

Petals mirror la hue de Luna,
  but pale below her glow
Though the desert sweet aroma,
  is fragrance plus photo

Neither causing nightly failure,
  in idyllic charm
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

The moon a long gone distant rock,
  yet pulls on ocean tops
Cereus lures with sweetest tricks,
  and stings with countless licks  

Battered holy asteroid face,
 woos flawless solar gaze
And even though it causes mire,
  lunar eclipses fire

The cactus thrives in driest sands,
  and chokes in fertile lands
Alluring lonesome wanderers,
  promising mere water

The lucid beauty bewilders,
  as much as it can haunt
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

You, once my cereus and moon,
  were drowned in my love well
Perhaps, I was this to you too,
  though your hole I’d not delve

However, what was first velvet,
  morphed into devil’s horns
Winter shed those thorns in my chest,
  now spring gifts hope and more

The icy grips of each winter,
  provides spring fuel to spark
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

Although we've gone on our own ways,
  I wouldn’t change the past
For each step was necessary,
  to find true love at last

We were once greater together.

I’m now greater apart.
if i believe
in death be sure
of this
it is

because you have loved me,
moon and sunset
stars and flowers
gold crescendo and silver muting

of seatides
i trusted not,
                    one night
when in my fingers

drooped your shining body
when my heart
sang between your perfect

darkness and beauty of stars
was on my mouth petals danced
against my eyes
and down

the singing reaches of
my soul
the green-

greeting pale-
departing irrevocable
i knew thee death.

                              and when
i have offered up each fragrant
night,when all my days
shall have before a certain

face become
          from the ashes
thou wilt rise and thou
wilt come to her and brush

the mischief from her eyes and fold
mouth the new
flower with

thy unimaginable
wings,where dwells the breath
of all persisting stars
renea lee Oct 2015
Thy sweet scent of rose petals in the book
Melts with the letters through its flipping pages,
Patterns of beauty and fragrance took,
The breath beneath the speaking lines of ages;
If these petals stayed through the years,
Will their lovely scent proclaimed my love to thee?
And the book who witnessed thy petals’ tears,
Will it be purged by the lines we longed to keep?
Like these fragments of roses confined through words,
Leave dark traces of circled loss and love
So is life sings with sweet lines and bitter chords,
Infinity remains underneath our feelings and above;
You are, my love, were these traces of petals,
In our book of love, they will forever last.
Marie Love Oct 2016
Lord my petals.
Lord my petals.

Why you had to take them from me.
Devil wasn't ready,
But mommy was.

Lord why you had to **** me.
That burning sensation when I laid that night,

You destroyed my petals,
Lord that was in me..

But if I lied,
Said it was fine,
We'll be alright,

I'll eventually get over it,
Wouldn't I?
How could I..

My body hurts lord.
Why you had to do this.
I wasn't ready,
You made that decision for me..

And that's why,
I could never say I'm sorry.
My rose petals.
May Sep 2014
Picking petals
like you picked apart
my heart.
each piece drifts
to the ground
You loved me,
you love me not.

Petal by petal.
Piece by piece.
Till nothing's left
but a vacant stem,
an empty vessel.
Left to wither away
never can be whole again,
can't get back what's been taken.
You loved me.
You love me not.

I envy the flower,
for while it dies
after being picked and torn
to peices.
I survive,
these injuries won't **** me
but I'll never be the same.
so i'll continue picking petals
You loved me.
You love me not.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
child of heart
but not of womb,
would i'd been
gifted to ban the
parasitic lies,
to shelter ears
& fragile petals
against bruising,
acts and words.
would i might be
gifted now to
soothe, cradling
tender soul through
deadest night's
watery gloom.
yet firmly i know
none other will ever
be gifted to bestow
what only One balm
can perfectly renew,
and He waits for you,
my beautiful girl.
Cee Valenso May 2016
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet clad in branded shoes
Adventurous, brazen fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering sunflowers with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions enticing pairs of hands
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, and I willingly give in
Summer petals weaken the gullible heart
The summer petals abandon the gullible heart
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet now bare
Adventurous, brazen fingers now dormant

One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet clad in cheap shoes
Curious fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering white daisies with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions spring once more
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, yet again I give in
Winter petals capture the derelict heart
The winter petals emulate mirrors after caressing the ramshackle heart
One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet once again bare, now calloused
Curious fingers now cautious

One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet hesitating to be covered
Vacillating fingers mapping the wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions surface once more
Pristine dandelions displaying subtle coquetry
And I stall, for heaven's sake, I stall
Fall petals demonstrate its desire to the heart
The fall petals fall but the bitter heart hangs on a silk thread
One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet discovers a rhythm
A rhythm so unpleasant, so abhorrent
Vacillating fingers now curl
Curl into the palm in resistance
Anna Wood Nov 2011
I woke up early one morning
Get out of bed, my family's still snoring
But I've got a special place to be today

The road's wet; the rain had just fallen
And I know soon you'll be callin'
I can't wait for the sound of your voice

Rain in the summer, rain in the spring
Everybody knows that's our kind of thing
The flowers in the meadow don't stand a chance
As we throw up our cares and dance
We paint the petals one by one
We paint the petals one by one

A willow almost forgotten
Your hair feels softer than cotton
A good book and we could stay here forever

An old path, I've never been here
Your hand in mine, I walk with no fear
Outdoors right here is right where we belong

Rain in the summer, rain in the spring
Everybody knows that's our kind of thing
The flowers in the meadow don't stand a chance
As we throw up our cares and dance
We paint the petals one by one
We paint the petals one by one

And I can't stay here without you
And I see the world in a new view

Rain in the summer, rain in the spring
Everybody knows that's our kind of thing
The flowers in the meadow don't stand a chance
As we throw up our cares and dance
We paint the petals one by one
We paint the petals one by one
This is actually a song so without the music behind it it may not seem like the syllables fit
M L Soo Nov 2016
To stand alone on a distant shore
My being stricken with love and grief
The soul, it sings, of lost amore
and beckons back a loving thief

Like petals- surfing, on cold night air
Moonlight- drizzles through the dark,
The moon- it offers a wicked stare
and echoes the acid that fills the heart

— The End —