bloom

<sub>when flowers bloom upon the tree
what will be goes unseen
though we perceive a thing of beauty
what is underneath?

theres a process that i never understood
theres a growth that happens on its own
i must accept the winding ways of natures good
and let whats meant to bloom

when looking on the sycamore
i used to dream of death
i knew a man who took that door
that still i thought a friend

theres a movement that i wish that i could change
theres a wind that steals away too soon
by evolution souls of those who took the stage
yet never got to bloom

oh why? will i always wonder?
i try, though its not enough
the world, it is like a flower unfurling on the bough

when no one looks, it grows the same
for everyone; for none
and for its season, germinates
until its day is done

theres a motion that i found a mystery
theres a feeling that i cant express
its not who i am but yet its still in me
aching to confess

theres a purpose that is still developing
like a picture hung in a darkroom
the truth despite the shadows still enveloping
must find a way to bloom</sub>