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Hiya
Mar 22, 2011 23:15:51 GMT -5
Post by dreamerrach on Mar 22, 2011 23:15:51 GMT -5
I am a flower, still in bud. When the dear little head crested that stem, I thought: Aha! Now have I bloomed. And people fussed over that tiny bud. They poked, and they prodded. They created great fanfare and awed at the life imbued with beauty.
It never occurred to them-or to me-that I was unfinished. That fanciful splash of color heralded my bloom. Yet I remained bound, tight and compressed. Unbloomed. Still preparing.
Everyone thinks that I am done. Indeed, I thought I was done. Yet these petals have just formed. They remain curled about me, unwilling to burst forth in bloom. Not yet.
But my petals ache to stretch. To unfurl and bask in the sun's kissing rays. To show what I am to the world.
Ah, but it is dangerous to be too beautiful. It is perilous to smell so sweet. It is a disaster to be useful. The weeds in the field are left alone, free to grow and wither on their own.
But the beautiful flower! She, they will poke. She, they will prod. And when she bursts forth, they will pluck her from her roots-and kill her in their greed and splendor. They want to savor her-and, thus, they kill her.
I am not ready to come out.
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Hiya
Mar 23, 2011 17:54:28 GMT -5
Post by michaelsees on Mar 23, 2011 17:54:28 GMT -5
More Miracle Grow!
Michael
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Hiya
Mar 27, 2011 6:40:38 GMT -5
Post by sharon on Mar 27, 2011 6:40:38 GMT -5
The most beautiful flower blooms where no-one can see it. Only innocence itself can see these flowers ~ do not be afraid ~ for it knows the rich tenderness of these blooms.
It is with a deep reverence and trust, that the wolf holds the neck of another in its jaws.
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