Flower in the Wind
***FLOWER IN THE WIND***
Amidst glowing embers it sits, symbolic in the wind.
Young, rich, and beaming colors blind the darkness.
Broken petals ripped from past stems, burn in the present.
Gasping through ash and smoke, it fights to blossom.
It stands, against the dark, alive.
Distant roaring fires, rage furiously, near soundlessly, across frost tipped mountains,
Amounting to nothing but a ghostly moan unto this barren land.
Alone it emerges, glistening through dark, creeping, lifeless smoke.
Ash and amber, licks of flame, smoke and kindle latch themselves, entombing it.
It stands, against the fire, full of life.
Days grow longer, the fires grow stronger, it grows ever wiser.
Feeding from soft touches of a sunlight breaking tirelessly across darkening skies.
Bright, beautiful rays of hope, beat down upon it.
Blinding, burning heat moving silently with the wind, charge toward it.
It stands, torn between lights and heats, growing.
Bridges built around it's land, formed in promises of new beginnings, weaken.
Leaves dance along howling winds, quietly tumbling toward fires unknown.
Secrets, illusions of the fiery gusts hide in plain sight,
Unseen to countless glimmers of life that race past it.
It holds on, gripping the only world it's ever known.
In the shadows, ticking of hands grow louder, to what do they count?
A reflection it becomes, of these blind, stray leaves blowing past.
The danger of difference lingers, a deafening threat hidden in silence.
But for how long will it listen, stay speechless through surrounding chaos, corruption,
This flower in the wind.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.