rise,
I see the garden in your
eyes.
As the sunflowers in my
hair
greet the roses growing
everywhere.
I can see your soul.
It's beautiful and tired.
As the tears that dwell
subside,
I see the garden in your
eyes.
As the roses and the
thorns
begin to wear and tear until
torn.
You can see my soul?
It longs to be held.
By who?
Loving arms.
So it shall be.
So it has been.
So it will be, always.
So we grow.
So we've grown.
So we'll grow, always.
Together.
I can see your soul.
It is beautiful and tired.
It longs to be held in loving arms,
as if a small child
that is gifted the beauty of a butterfly's wings
and the song of an angel.
I can see your soul.
It is handsome and sleepy.
It longs to be cared for,
loved, and understood.
It is gifted the beauty of a king,
and the song of a nightingale.
I can see your soul.
It grows like the flowers in our hair,
and flashes like the life before our eyes.
It is loving and kind.
It is scared, yet determined.
It is one, because we are one.
It echoes your heartbeat
so I may feel it in mine.
It is a story waiting to be told,
and one day, you will tell it,
for I am all I've done.
I can see your soul.
-LJ
15 August 2015
