It remains in the clumps of flowering Heathers.
these unspoken tittering thoughts like feathers…
They are visible as a brushstroke of vivid colors
We read them in subtle twisted frowns, blurs…
The unspoken sets the pace between the space;
it is the two step dance in silent mourning case…
To rise to speak to tell the world anew still one person at a time:
“See me bloom my lifespan here and hear me amidst the chime.”
In thunder, silence roars all the louder like a diamond in the sand;
timidity too humbly vows to bow to the bold like the parade band.
Should one have the courage to feel the luster of every flower,
the details would leak in crystalized volumes of tear showers.
Nicoleta I. Neagoy copyright 5-26- 2016