You were a sturdy oak,

growing so slowly

only listening closely,

yielded the creak of bark

being stretched by time.

Beside you, I was blossoming,

a flower reaching her roots

into the ground

and the hearts of strangers,

trying to find purpose in my petals,

bursting with firecracker colour

stretching toward the sun and stars

peeking through your heavy bough.

I realised I was waiting,

on the outskirts of this meadow

living in violet shade;

for someone who

observes the sky too,

how it is never the same,

lilac pink then deep blue.

For someone to pluck me

from your quiet side,

because you were ready to stand

for more than a hundred years;

a sleeping beauty without

true love’s first kiss.

Only dead flowers remain the same,

pressed, kept in a frame.

And I was a flower in bloom,

ready to see the world without you.

 

 

© Kristiana Reed 2018

Image credit.