POETRY ON MEDIUM
Flowers Bloom just to Wilt
I hope to be a flower. One day.
A Dandelion? A Sunflower? Hibiscus? Cherry blossoms?
Sunflower it is; bright, love, and light. I have always looked good in yellow.
In my next life, if there is one
I do not want to come back as a woman.
Your guess is wrong too.
I also do not wish to share in the experience and inexperience
of being born a man in this wicked wretched world.
I want to come back as a flower. To the gods that be,
Hear my plea:
I wish to be reborn as a Sunflower.
Not the fragile,
easily crushed,
quickly bent,
flower that is my existence.
When I come back,
I want me to be a Sunflower;
Resilient. Bold. Admired. Loved.
I want to make love to the sun but I won’t share Icarus’ fate,
I’ll bloom, not burn and wither.
In this life,
I have already had to be fire, hail, and thunder.
In the next,
I just want gentleness,
To sway with the gentle breeze,
To dance freely without judging eyes.
I want to be planted with intent,
Watered with love,
Showered with care and reverence.
I want someone to witness every waking moment of my existence,
Document my journey from seedling to first sprout to full bloom.
And when all is said and done
Lament my demise as my petals start to shed their beauty,
With a heart full of desire and love and impermanence.
I want to bloom and wilt
Just like a Sunflower.
Then I’d be mourned, but just for seven minutes as another takes my place,
In the flower pot that has housed my soul
my brief but rich existence.
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