musings of a damned mind

Those who are close enough to need to know what yhis is about.

Know what this is about.

 

Blossom.

 

Blossom

 

softened bud with ink stained rim.

Impenetrable shell. no hint

 for what’s within.

 

Scattered rain,

Blinding sun, falls on unyielding

Skin. Ink stained.

 

Blinding sun, purest light,

Cuts through the dark, ends a night.

Dare to open, bud to show

The blossom inside. the rain to flow

 

Over petals gossamer. Blossom fragile,

Shown the sun .

First time in a while.

 

Dared to hope it was ok to shine,

Petals to show, gold to mine.

Frost comes swift to the newly bud,

Harsh and cruel, severed but

 

Closes in time, small sap its bleeds,

Ink stains quick to cover leaves.

Rain washes off, the sun trapped out,

Sap seeps through a bleeding spout.

 

Moon now rises, blossom tries

Again to see the dawning skies.

Of swift frost it is now afeared,

Scared of hurt, scared of tears.

 

Dares to hope at stars’ caress,

Blossomer’s touch, a light blue dress,

Sees a smile and responds in kind,

Dares to hope, to show, to shine.

 

Hoar frost comes and cuts it. Swift.

Lingering hope and barbarous twist,

Blossom caught, unclosed, unawares.

Sunlit wounds, still it bares.

 

The starlight cuts and catches the flower,

Cuts it deep, leaves sweetness sour.

Ink runs through skin, seeps into flesh,

Tattoo of pain, of shields, of mesh

Of recollection that holds blossom closed,

Lotus held, bloodied rose.

 

One day to flower, perhaps, we hope.

To shine to all, nevermore to slope

Away from the light of other’s joy,

Birth given by the ink, flower used as toy.

 

One day to adorn and perhaps to grow,

Entwined with a flower not just for show.

Till then arrives the ink shall shine,

Deflect all gaze, a different kind

 

Of light it gives, warm bathing not

So bright, as before, to pierce the night.

Keep a light night light to not hurt sight.

Blossom closed, bud refreshed

 

With ink spun words,

A silence found,

Flower shut

Out of sight, of sound.

 

Waiting for that lover’s touch.

Blossomer’s hand, not too fast, or too much.

 

At the corner of your garden,

I do now grow,

The blossoms colour you could soon know,

 

Just a touch is all it needs.

Sweet caress, brush away inked reeds.

You did it once,

Then drew away,

Left me to frost and harshest day.

All I need is to wait,

Till you say,

Yes.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe one day.