The Beauty in the Mess

ruffles macro

Within each crease, beneath each scar, and etched in every vein

Her petals form a tale alive with hope carved out of pain;

Though deeply marred, disfigured, torn, her beauty proves to me

The choice to bloom despite her wounds is what has set her free.

I read within imperfect folds a novel penned by grace,

For harshest hurts transformed, redeemed, become the very place

Where subtle hues and fragile scent, those glories forged by stress,

Release our truest, highest self – the beauty in the mess.

 

 

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The Transformation

Creek view

Winter wounds carve the deepest,

Cancerous in their cold insistence;

Glaciation leaves a mark.

But once the tears wash away the gravel,

Your new landscape will drop jaws –

As the desert was scoured into the Grand Canon,

Everest buckled and heaved with stress,

So your beauty will shine,

Common carbon to  delectable diamond.

I

     can

            see

                  your

                        sparkle

                            through the trees….

Step From the Shadows

highlightedmonkshood

Your rays forge art from gristle,

paint pain purified,

resonate refined silver notes;

beams return praises sung by ruptured hearts

as gifts of solid gold

Magical,

mysterious

transformation,

mine if

I will but

step from the

shadows…

Metamorphosis

She woke up one day to find

she wasn’t even a has-been.

She was a not-yet,

a fetal position bud,

a still-born dream,

an unnamed embryo.

While others unfurled,

she remained;

pupal confinement in whisper-case,

hers was a thought not conceived,

an alphabet disjointed

whose words could not contain flesh.

When the womb of her existence

was held up in placental mirror,

when she saw,

and denial was torn from wretched unformed fingers,

her pain became a labour of love,

speeding her through the birth canal,

fiery ring of the Phoenix.

With vernix and blood

scrubbed from her infancy,

with umbilical apron strings

deliberately cut,

her lungs found their Voice –

and how she wailed!

Lusty newborn cries

wrenched her chrysalis open

and she ,

on newly minted butterfly wings,

Bloomed.

Flew.

Soared!