Hands of Admiration

A flower found in your hand

then mine dies faster than 

the blossom left to soil and sun

Still, in it’s own time, 

the rooted flower dies.

I wonder if the petals 

wish to trade a longer life 

for a brief, yet sweet 

caress of my hand.

 

But if love is a flower

Does it truly expire?

Is the love we lost 

ever really gone? 

I like to think it is infinite

Overflowing from our hearts

And marked in memories

The seeds of our stalk

Fall from the plucked blossom

 

To germinate a new generation

Of love and laughter 

As fresh fortuities

Flow into our divine path,

When we surrender 

To the hands of admiration, 

the inherent potential of Love 

is only redirected

On a new patch of earth

In soul purpose and sunshine.

xoxo, L

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a photo series with Stories in a Picture