Friendship
An Ode to Platonic Love.
Thousand budding springs,
in a climate of my greatest warmth,
carefully watered and admired,
since my eyes could open to see,
and my hands could curl to hold
yours.
A garden,
where over time some trees have grown beyond my height,
tree trunks surpassing the circumference of my body,
in company of grand bushes, grass, smaller plants, miniscule flowers,
each in a seperate flourishing spectacle,
and among them, scattered, the quietly frozen,
the ones I one day stopped watering,
or those whom simply refused to grow.
On the days I caress them, I lie on my stomach to truly admire their details.
Even the few whom droop to dew drops on uncut grass, succumbed to gravity, eaten by abandoned passages,
can be cradled and held, with gently bloomed memories etched in faded shades of brown.
A seed can become a world, if tended, with time, with love,
with potential unknown,
rose bush in bloom,
blushed in a field of sunflowers,
an all-encompassing tree, of hanging leaves
stretching far above the horizon-specked tree tops,
visible from lost roads,
as beautiful up close as with a soul of distance,
an inevitable harbor for home.
Whatever a seed might become is out of my control,
I can only facilitate it’s becoming,
and admire it’s revelation.
In my world of uniquely their owns,
I am the one who walks,
among budding, drooping,
gained and lost,
unfolding
loves.
(…)
©2019 Helene Heid.
