Bloom

The flowers are in my hands,

precious petals full of fragile fragrance

and colors that dance over my eyes,

turning up my vision with a

knob of delightful global views.

It's so beautiful and simple.

I have to treat it gingerly, though,

because with this beauty comes a price,

a price of danger of injury.

And an extra force of my breath

can make it wither in my fingertips,

causing it to never be the same.

Each unique in its own way;

I get to touch so many and

experience to sweet smells

in my olfactory nerves and

a sigh in a bliss beyond all boundaries.

It want to encapsulate it in glass,

fortify it in four walls of protection

so nothing can taint its heavenly quake

but it has to face the sky,

bloom in the sun,

open its hands and say,

"I am part of it all."

Change only comes when

the light hits the core

and opens the eyes

because beauty blooms

when flowers are loved.

So I hold you in my hands

and the light touches your core,

just like you do for me,

just like is done for others.

Now do you see

why you have to bloom?