Poems About Blossom Novels & Stories

Or not enough? With a sigh, she dipped her pen in ink and began to write, her emotions finding shape in verse: A withered rose, forgotten in the vase, Still thirsts for light, for water, and for grace. Though petals fall and vibrant hues have fled, A fragrance lingers where beauty once was bred. The gardener passes, blind to silent plea, His gaze fixed firm on fresher blooms than she. Yet still she stands, her purpose not yet done, A quiet dignity beneath the sun.

Rose was reciting Yi Shu’s prose poem, ‘To Oak Tree’. “If I ever love you, “I’ll never be like the scrambling trumpet creepers, showing off by your branch high up in the sky; “I must be a ceiba near you, standing beside you as a tree. “Our roots, holding the earth tightly; our leaves touching each other in the clouds. With each passing wind, we send our regards to each other, but nobody can understand our language. You have your tough branches made of copper and iron, like falchions, like swords, and also like halberds.

Its stems glisten bright green in its lush waters Now purple blooming in its core Each water drop flow down its sides Trimmed, held majestic The Black Rose Vastria smiled as she remembers the poem she once wrote. She remembered how the rose signified death, but also of new life, new beginnings. She could not take her attention away from the rose before her. She leaned down to smell the rose. It smelled so different than a regular rose. It smelled sweeter, but she could not figure out the other part of this rose fragrance.

*ANASTASIA* I am in the Rose Garden. But not as it is in waking life. Everything is in bloom—violently, obscenely alive. Roses spill open around me in thick, silken layers, their petals so saturated with color they seem to pulse with their own heartbeat. Deep crimsons bleed into bruised purples, while tender pinks flush pale as dawn light. Each bloom unfurls like a mouth opening to whisper secrets, their folds heavy and wet with morning dew that clings to my fingertips when I brush past. Some hang pendulous, drunk on their own beauty, hearts swollen and velvet-soft, caressing my bare arms with the intimacy of lovers' touches as I drift between them.

Children do, sometimes, playing house or telling secrets where the wood smells of rain and time. ‎ ‎The white flowers grow everywhere. ‎ ‎They started around the two stones—Rex’s and mine—and spread. First a ring, then a meadow, then a sea. They bloom in every season, in every weather. Snow settles on them and melts without bruising a petal. Rain beads on them like tears that refuse to fall. Sunlight turns them almost transparent, so you can see the veins of silver running through each one. ‎ ‎People come to walk among them.

“Ms. Jensen, your partner and the kids are amazing. You’re really lucky. “Your arm would have been fine with just some ointment. But they insisted you stay in the hospital and took care of you the whole time.” Moon smiled. Pride shone in her eyes. Julian walked in with the two boys. He handed her the bouquet he was holding, and a warm smile spread across his face. “Your discharge papers are ready. The boys picked these flowers this morning. Congratulations on getting out of the hospital!” Zayden and Yannick leaned in on either side. “Ms. Jensen, look! There are still dewdrops on the flowers!” “Ms. Jensen, these flowers are as pretty as you!”

“You’ve never tried to leave?” Ivy looked across the valley. “I never had anywhere else to go.” Lila’s heart ached. “No one should ever feel like that.” Before Ivy could answer, a warm breeze swept through the garden. Every flower turned toward her. White lilies opened all at once. Lavender burst into bloom. Rosebuds unfolded in seconds. The air filled with the sweet scent of jasmine. Both women froze. Lila slowly turned toward Ivy. “…Did you do that?” “I…”

"Good job, Cassie. Take Anya with you and leave the person I have become, the person who doesn’t love you anymore." Cassiopeia clutched the necklace and smiled for the first time in days. 'Lucas, you have lost me for good!'

The words ripple through me with a warmth that feels like home. Not possessive. Not hungry. Certain. My identity thins further, becoming more distributed not gone, just everywhere inside her. It’s like falling asleep in someone’s arms but still hearing the world through their heartbeat. I drift. Clara drifts. Claria gathers us gently, like threads pulled into a single braid. The realm around us begins to dissolve the divine walls fading, the sky cracking open to reveal the mortal world waiting outside. I feel air again. Wind.

The delicate pink petals cascaded down like a gentle shower, creating a serene canopy above. She settled onto the bench, feeling its cool surface against her palms as she clasped her hands together. Her gaze wandered across the vibrant blooms that adorned the garden, their colors a vibrant tapestry of nature's artistry. The tranquility of the surroundings offered a temporary respite from the storm of emotions swirling inside her.