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.
Lazy_Dead
Written by Lazy_Dead (.Julia.)
Published | Edited 27th May 2020
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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