Pulling Petals

Days pass by, and the petals

fly. In a glorious garden, life

slows down; I can now zero

in on sounds that have yet

to be heard. I look around.

I see vibrant colors and shapes.

Without thought, birds and bees

survey the land. Abundant motion

surrounds a restless soul. I see

trees dance above a strong ground.

Coexisting with each other, all forms

of life carry on with no concern.

Not asking to be born, I learn to ask

how to live a life without keeping

track of all that I lack. I ask flowers

what it feels like to be pulled, planted,

cut, watered, and given away. I pluck

a flower in the midst of April showers,

and I begin pulling petals. One by one,

under the justified sun, I start pulling

petals. “She loves me. She loves me not”.

Asking questions that go unanswered.

After another question, the flower

was naked, missing its petals. Because

of my questioning, the flower’s beauty

is missing. I destroyed something due

to me not believing. I knew that my

doubt washed all the beauty out.

I lay the flower stem on the dirt,

and I realize my questions did

nothing but cause pain and hurt.

Swamped

Engulfed in life,
work;
there is hardly time
to play. Most of us
don’t see the signs.
Flooded with emotions –
swamped
with stress. The day
leaves us
drenched, and we must
dry off
before the next morning.
Soaked and sad,
we can’t help to feel
bad. We do our best
to avoid
drowning in life’s sea.
I don’t choose to carry
this weight. It must
be fate.
Swamped.
Drenched. Flooded.
I choose to not run
from the water that
always comes.