Bloom, She Must

Quiet Thing,


She, sleeping…

Waking sound!

Sun beaming.

Shaking ground.


She, I found.

Virgin shoot,

Craving Light.

Crushing brute,

Pulls Her tight.

Lusting Fruit?

Selfish Night.

Hidden Truth,

from Our Sight.

Struggle lost?

Struggle won.

Through ground’s Frost,

Touch the Sun!

Final thrust.

Final run.

Bloom, She must!

…It is done.

© All rights reserved, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: