The flowers are in my hands,
precious petals full of fragile fragrance
and colors that dance over my eyes,
turning up my vision with a
knob of delightful global views.
It's so beautiful and simple.
I have to treat it gingerly, though,
because with this beauty comes a price,
a price of danger of injury.
And an extra force of my breath
can make it wither in my fingertips,
causing it to never be the same.
Each unique in its own way;
I get to touch so many and
experience to sweet smells
in my olfactory nerves and
a sigh in a bliss beyond all boundaries.
It want to encapsulate it in glass,
fortify it in four walls of protection
so nothing can taint its heavenly quake
but it has to face the sky,
bloom in the sun,
open its hands and say,
"I am part of it all."
Change only comes when
the light hits the core
and opens the eyes
because beauty blooms
when flowers are loved.
So I hold you in my hands
and the light touches your core,
just like you do for me,
just like is done for others.
Now do you see
In : poetry