Withering Blossom
I've often wondered—
Are things truly so unvaluable,
that we’re ready to forget them,
leave them behind like a misplaced season?
Do we write the recipe,
or was it already baked long before we stirred the first feeling?
People—
they're like mirror reflections,
or light in varying intensities.
You need to see them in your mirror
as if they are part of you—
not too close to blind you,
not too far to lose them in shadow.
Not too dazzling,
not too dim.
You want them clear—
like white light at dawn.
Sinless, like the first breath of sunrise.
Sinful, like the last kiss of sunset.
Profound, like the hush of the ocean.
Softened, like rain distilled from a wandering autumn cloud.
You want someone inscribed in your soul,
who holds you like a breeze does a leaf—
lifting you up, up, up—
but never letting you fall.
👁 4💬 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.