Your Garden Bloom
I couldn't be the person I would need to be to keep you here. I am unable to be your church in your times of need and your nobody during times of greed. You, I could plainly see, are now watering the roses you planted. Not giving time enough to bloom and blossom, only ever wounded by the might of thorns before self-fully self-lessly blaming the very protector of your growing beauty and desire of nowness lead you to retreat from your own garden. To seek result before outcome. To choose another already colored blossom of hidden thorn. One that waits, for your fool grasp and heavy hand of saught victory before victoriously awarding your choice of nowness and sinking each hidden barb into your softnessess still brightly colored in bloom. No blame, no retreat, no disgruntled abandon for this surprise constant of nowness? Hiding agony of bloom in hand vibrantly you showcase all visible beauty. Allowing mistaken tears for their opposite of falling. Kept it you did without a traveling tho...