What we are and what we feel are
two different concepts,
notions I need to feel,
I watch from within as thoughts build and layers
harden then peel
like ancient flakes of house paint decorating
that life we accepted and treasured within,
I know through deep understanding
that each flake tells a story,
it’s witnessed so much of life
to be felt, heard, and seen.
What I feel is a blossoming,
a wafting rose developing,
from a tiny elaborate bud into
much,
much more,
complexities created,
so much in store,
her fragrance is intoxicating,
I do not yearn for anything but her
in the morning,
a pin-pricking, her warning,
to be gentle with her,
patience never stalling.
A petal drops –
by goodness, what a shame,
her story is unfolding,
but losing beauty? –
should the ache in my heart refrain?
Because it is with dying that she is
breathing life,
to live is to expire,
but to experience is proof of internal fire.
And her flames are astounding,
she’s alive, so vivid now,
effervescent, glowing
the flakes of paint fall into an inferno,
fuelling her understanding
that to live is to capture and incinerate
what the world deems as beauty,
there’s much more to her presence,
behind there is more than a duty,
it’s a requirement fulfilled morally.
And it is with experience that she
continues to grow,
her form is not lopped,
stunted growth,
to entertain others with her vision,
with her dangerous thorns
as protection,
for her wonder in the morning
and beyond,
we think, we feel,
we consider what she does,
what notions there are to accept,
as necessary?
Sometimes it’s required that our awareness
is measured,
and our hearts, oh, our hearts,
must begin to beat harder,
no option for slowing,
no option for stalling,
they should continue to beat fiercely,
uncontrollably.
© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Meghan Schiereck on Unsplash
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