I stood on the balcony of my mind The
Prospect of waiting put me And me only
On my journey to wish A dream
That never ceases to fuel itself
Living in a pool of hawthorn encased by a treasure box
From my childhood In it lives a story that
Should be concealed for years That should not be opened
A painful moment Now the years of yearning
Goes with the wind that blew by I witness it fly
Fly Fly with the wind So
I opened the box To find what I hoped for years ago
The heavy chassis uplifts Reveals
Pink Red Flowers that greeted my presence
Fragrance in the air Supremacy reigns the room
With a quiet hiss of “hi there” Enough I thought
To pull the wreckages of my heart Back together again
But in it is a letter From myself A tiny reminder in a tiny package
My ugly handwriting that I first cannot decipher
A cryptic clue to my own disposition
But with such quietude What a tranquility I must’ve been in
No matter how cryptic I was still young
I should dismiss it I thought
But something reached me “Read it” Strong pulses to urge me
So I read Appreciate the hawthorn It says
But not too long Just long enough to find the woods charming
Short enough to stand without fatigues
Then to find my way back to the reality And bargain with the Fates
For a huge gift in the eventful course
The latter I already knew to be the commanding truth
Now I am wrong Now I am pulled back to life
Again To greet time To bid farewell
And suffer in them Be choked by them
A course that pettiness is needed more than ever
But now From time to time
I still see the hawthorn in my mind How it still is so vivacious
And now I know the reason why why the pink the red still blooms
And why the angel Saying “hi there” Dancing to her own rhythms
Appears again and again From time to time
It all is a quiet godsend in itself
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