The meadow of my heart grows a cherry blossom,
Pink, pale, quivering with hope.
Every morning it grows anew, for it will be today
When at night, sans relief nor respite, will it die.
But everyday is meant to be that day.
A day when I will not notice the pale blue cheeks of the sky,
The symphonies birds chirp, the secrets trees whisper,
Or the sonorous beating of a butterfly’s wings on that leaf,
Pregnant with the palpable hurricane, somewhere.
Then, I will feel the cherry leaves beat to my heart’s faint flutter,
I will feel like a child caressing the shallow depths of the ocean with his little feet,
For the first time.
I will know what it means to fly with the stars, listen to their divine music,
I will know what it is to Love.
When the cherry blossoms shall never shed,
When birds will be accompanied by the strings in my head,
Serenading an invasion of ecstasy.
When I will feel the biting wind and revel in its warmth, because it smells of you,
When I will be the lone wanderer because all roads will lead to you,
When I will lose myself because I looked too long in your eyes, yet could not stop looking,
When time will freeze, the world stop, because eternal bliss is in the moments with you,
When I will find myself without words for beauty because it will begin and end with you,
When I will will all your grief to me, and my happiness to you,
When I will walk on the shattered glass of my emotions for you,
When the darkest dawn will be a good morning because you smiled:
I will be in love.
But today is not that day
For I drown in myself and the blossoms have withered.
In the snow-laden barrenness that my love calls home,
There is naught but darkness.
But I wait in my limbo,
Dipping my feet and tending the tree,
Hoping against hope for you;
The Angel in white to fill the voids between my fingers
And cover the craters in my heart.
I persist in hope to love, to give more than I get,
Embracing its futility,
For no amount of love would for you ever be enough.