#poem about flowers

[shadowviixen]

My fondness for flowers grew,

and so did my desire to paint them.

Living in a town scarce of gardens,

I flooded my walls with their vibrant petals.

In a world where they slowly withered,

their beauty remained within me.

In my heart... And with every thought made with a brush stroke.

God forbid a person to rummage my insides,

for all they will see are the blooms of flora that persisted.

❧…

Paintings below are mine♡. Please credit for any form of reuse♡.

[kapicryst]

How gorgeous and elegant it is when flowers bloom

But they soon lose their colour

And their petals fall

And all but death is calling to them

For their beauty is fleeting

Temporary

But beauty is still beauty

When memories of their bloom

Still echoes within us

— When the flowers bloom

[willyhoos]

metamy is insane. like.

what if i was the hero you loved gone wrong. defeated and destroyed. rebuilt as my own greatest enemy. what if i lost everything. what if i had been reprogrammed to despise all i had once fought for. what if i couldn't even remember why i had fought at all.

and what if you were made of roses. what if you represented every beautiful thing i once died trying to protect. what if you wore flowers in your hair and cared for small creatures and had eyes the color of the forests i used to call my home. what if you were everything i once loved.

those memories are just out of my reach. infuriatingly. maddeningly. but if anyone knows who i am (who i used to be) it's you. if anyone can make me feel like who i used to be (who i really am) it's you. i can't speak, i can't breathe, i can't remember anything (but you).

you are the world i have been ordered to burn. i am the weapon you have chosen to resist. i was (am) the hero that you loved.

you are my only memory.

i will do anything to make you believe me.

[pogbur]

theres something poetic about being young and picking up the little yellow dandelions and calling them flowers. and every single time an adult says no thats a weed. don't give it to me thats not a flower thats a weed. its ugly and its bad because of what we call it. so you stop picking them. you stop putting them behind you ear or tying the stems together. nobody likes weeds anyways, right?

[arson-jellyfish69]

Drew the main 4 with flowers that represent their best qualities

Clark:

Canterbury Bells

Cornflower

Forget-me-not

Kara:

Dessert Rose

Black eyed Susan

Russian sage

Lois:

Dandelion

Iris

Clematis

Jimmy:

Cosmos

Pansy

Lotus

Dahlia

[mckenzieyoungart]

“Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.”

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

[cottaegecore]

mindy nettifee

[z3rovski]

Death is not the end

Death can never be the end

Death is the road

Life is the traveller

The soul is the guide

- Sri Chinmoy

[distardre]

im never shutting up about the butterfly shaped collars 🦋

[imfullofworms]

[hersurvival]

I used the last of my pressed,

Dried pansies today on a poem for you -

The first I ever wrote,

The one you didn't know about,

But had secretly given you a line or two

In a note once -

Glued them to the back and placed them

In an organza bag with a polaroid of us.

@nosebleedclub September 19th - The Last of the Flower Garden

[secretsiwhispertothemoon]

[laugtherhyena]

And now that your rose is in bloom, a light hits the gloom on the gray

[coquelicoq]

me after reading four poems by internationally beloved, critically acclaimed, insanely influential 19th-century poet charles baudelaire: wow this guy's emo lol

[sevyyi]

loves me not

a simple want to pick a flower, yet hesitance remains between each finger, intertwined like a crown of daisies. it’s sticky nectar clings to me along with detest,

for desiring.

my left holds a vine of insecurity, thick and heavy, entwined around the fourth and alongside the finger of promises. i swore to never utter the words ‘i do’. though, fated suffering is not easy to subdue.

should i, depict and debrief each petals affections towards me? if the flower loves me?

or loves me not.

the mindless greed, for such a selfish need, as the petals and leaves will only wither and corrupt, under my touch.

yet i still pluck each petal, questioning if the flower loves me, or loves me not.

when left with nothing but a stem and pile of defaced beauty, i realise too late that i had murdered over my need of security.

[sivavakkiyar]

Amiri Baraka