Thinking Like a Flower

 Before the wind blew the morrow, a place where animosity and vulnerability lurked obscured some occurrences. One of those was the sky falling, in a fraction of a seed into the circumference of the shallows strictly bent on its purpose.

If this is meant to happen, it will breath. Left with choices, it becomes a number two (2).

There is no safer haven. This place is called several names, for reasons forbidden to be stated.

~

Parchments somersaulting to the summit of decentralised connotations before posing as a system recognised as deceit (de seed).

Bloom like a Rose breaking the law of attraction. It's beauty bolder than a rock, with no actual comparison  to a Daffodil.

~

There is no beginning to this end. One day that flower is going to become a tree. Oh! So she thought...

An experience in all nomenclatures, with stems well rooted in the waves of stapled emotions. Still it never felt soo bad to think like a flower.

The blanket of nature has never gone a day without dancing. From its tender age, till when it gives up the ghost meticulously punctuates a locomotive relief.

~

 In the book of reverence, hopes were diminished. A necessity Rose was considered before being squashed and beaten. Where were her thoughts now?

 Sadly in the mercy of her beholder. Her utility to be emancipated by her significance.

 Thinking like a flower is a direction outside reality. The same way all men must die, these flowers must die too.

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