deepundergroundpoetry.com

Nature

Decades prior,          
a lonesome, delicate,          
flower sprouted.          
Spring’s intentional gift.          
         
Mother Nature,        
 prognostically planting her prodigy        
amongst the base          
of a sturdy oak tree.      
       
As a test of fate and will.          
For time would only tell,        
If the flower would simply          
wither away or          
uncover her hidden potential        
and bloom          
         
Forever cast in the shadows          
of the tree’s overwhelming shade.          
Rarely to ever feel the sunlight        
shine upon her face.          
Only quickly, fleeting rays          
dancing in and out of  leaves,          
as winds occasionally blew.          
         
Longing for sunlight,    
struggling, to maintain hope.          
Without adequate nourishment,        
fighting to sustain life,    
in a counterproductive environment,        
she only barely bloomed.          
         
Delicate,          
but not meek.          
Vulnerable,          
but not Fragile.          
         
Mother Nature always kept a watchful eye.          
Never losing faith,          
Patiently waiting for the          
maturing flower to discover        
her inner source of strength.          
         
Sure enough, in her own time,          
that clever, crafty flower,          
with her diligent will,          
dug her roots down deeper,          
plunging them into the ground below.          
         
Intertwining hers with those of the mighty oak,          
granting herself access to          
abundantly flowing nourishment,          
a source of power, far exceeding her own.          
         
Mother Nature proudly smiled          
as she watched her          
resilient flower’s preordained journey        
begin to flourish.          
Confidently, observing from a far.    
Excitedly prepared to watch          
the petals of destiny unfold.          
         
In and out of seasons.          
Weathering life’s many storms.        
Burrowing underground,          
escaping winter’s life sucking fangs.          
Rising through ice and slush,          
at springtime’s reassuring call,        
to face another shaded trip around the sun.          
         
Each time,  building strength.          
Settling in her predestined purpose,          
Accepting the responsibility        
of her  gifts.        
Gaining depth of knowledge,          
understanding the life          
flowing trough her,          
was never meant for her...        
But to be graciously outpoured    
into those fatefully lead    
to take comfort in her presence.          
         
The trees would reach their branches down, mightily stretching          
drawing near enough          
to bask in her fragrant wisdom          
         
Bees nestled in her petals          
suckling on her pollen of pain.          
From sorrowful suffering comes the sweetest,  
most succulent  of nectars.          
         
Weary souls, seeking rest from          
life’s endeavors,          
would take shelter under the    
protective shade of  the oak tree.        
         
The growing flower        
sat beside them in their anguish,        
listened to their weeping,          
held their hand in times of sorrow,        
celebrated in their success,        
encouraged them through disappointments,         
and lept together in joy.        
         
Held them close during times of loneliness.          
Gently challenged perspectives    
when anger and rage burned within.          
Provided reassurance    
when fear, anxieties overwhelmed.          
Providing smiles and laughter    
to carry them through their struggles.          
         
Without hesitation,        
asking for nothing in return.    
She gave herself freely,          
without complaint.          
     
She carried the lessons      
of their stories      
But inside,    
she had her own story to tell.          
However, her voice          
was merely, a soft whisper,        
very few would ever hear.          
         
Yet, when she unearthed her voice      
and gathered courage to speak,        
Mountains trembled          
and oceans bowed at her feet.
Written by Lazy_Dead (.Julia.)
Published | Edited 9th Mar 2025
Author's Note
I wrote myself a birthday poem. Sometimes you have to celebrate yourself.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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