Blossoming
The old oak keeps reaching. It grows. Not old but strong. It reaches skyward and digs deep.
Seeds are sent, never-ending. Moving to life.
Looking to blossom, never withering to end.
The willow sways. Flows with the wind, bending and giving. Never locked and rigid. Heavy with life protecting itself. Moving to blossom’s song.
Fruit flourishes but falls. Ripens and ripens. Mystery found. What ages is treasured. Rich, deep, appreciated. Taste blossoms.
My heart is strong forever reaching.
My mind is open, listening.
My body ripens, ages, bends.
My soul, the treasure blossoming in growth.
***
What is Poetry Starts?
…poems and prose from now back to teen years
…remembering a first writing love
…pumping the creative well yet again
…silencing the internal critic