Inspiration

You stand before me,
cat­a­clysmic sur­vivor
cal­lously unspent.

I can only watch in won­der,
your tears turn­ing to dia­monds
your cries to song.

You have become the cre­ator
fash­ion­ing rhyth­mic sinew
from your own blood.

Your verse walks
touch­ing all who see
with celes­tial vision.

You rise,
beat­ing back the pain
strug­gle relent­ing to smile.

You speak,
honey drips like dew
words becom­ing my gos­samer wings.

I bloom.

No related posts.

Tagged as: blood, bloom, inspiration, Poetry, struggle, survivor, wings