Wishies at sunset dust gold upon these realized dreams; In my heart, I gather the bouquets to preserve immortally, for when my soul someday becomes f r e e, I wish to re-sprinkle the hope for others, like wishies in the breeze.
Don’t think my sunny outlook comes from a lifetime of easy; I’ve walked through the dark wood and from depression’s cliff, still find myself sometimes clinging.
I’ve cried my share of flash floods, drowned several lives in the deep, survived decades of verbal abuse, spent my time vowed and banded to Lonely.
I’ve been there and back, having spent most of my life there, but through it all, I kept the marker on where my dreams were buried,
inside a humble chest beneath the patch of wildflowers; I watched the live hues grow as the turpentine slowly stripped my own colors.
But the spirit, like pain, is buried deep, like music in the heart, cannot be reaped by any other, and perhaps the tears upon those wounds are the rain needed to combine with the light of the soul in that long, desolate season,
and we finally figure out how to use that manure to fertilize our strength and desire, and the sprouts from within finally catch fire and rise up to inspire, and the wildflowers burst from that buried chest, breaking the lock from the inside, having had enough of that old non-life.
So when I see all that I now see in each bloom, know I, too, like you, am the seed, the petals, the stem, the story, the roots.
Unfurl your light,
one ray at a time,
no hurry,
for there are plenty
of cloudy days and
star-inspired nights
to regroup strength
in between
the seasons and petals
and dreams.
Keep tenderly nurturing
that inner glowing seed;
no need to even reach
your full potential
this spring –
the journey is in the growing
and the courage developing
to achieve
all you were designed to be:
simply you, bloomed
into belief of your
beauty.
Laura Denise 