I sat on the toy store shelf, feeling all bottled-up and unwanted.
The kids prefer to play with video games, these days,
rather than being outdoors with me.
Then one day, this little girl grabbed me down from the shelf
and begged her Mommy to buy me.
She took me out to play as soon as we got home.
The spring day was so bright as I met the sun for the first time.
I could not contain the joy that I felt
as she unscrewed the lid and dipped the plastic wand
into the soapy liquid. She brought the wand to her lips
and gently blew out a line of iridescent bubbles.
I felt so free, floating through the air with my new friends.
Her giggles of delight were the sweetest sound.
She dances as we swirl around her. Pure imagination takes over
as she pretends to be a fish in a bubbly underwater world.
I will never forget the wonder that was in her eyes.
The wind caught each one of us, taking us on a new adventure.
She runs to try and catch me as I drift up and away from her.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
May 20th, 2014
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
She is like a sweet, smelling rose
blooming in the month of May.
Blooming with large, red peddles
sprawling and conquoring with beauty.
She is like a Spring Rose.
Her heart, like the rose is beautiful.
She stands there, blooming mad.
Her hair flowing, like the rose's peddles growing.
Standing tall and posterious, like the green, stern stem of the rose.
She is glorious and beautiful, just like the rose,
the sweet smiling rose, in the month of May.
Glorious and brave.
as the rain washes her peddles away,
and the gardener coming with his rusty clippers
to cut her away. I hold back and slowly burst to tears.
For I do not want to see my love go away.
But, like the rose she will grow and bloom once again.
And she will come back bigger, brighter and taller.
She is like the rose.
She is beautiful, like the May weather roses.
She is the red, ruby hearted rose,
that sparkles with the afternoon raindrops,
slowly dripping of the peddles.
She is like the rose, for every time I touch the rose,
I get stabbed by her pointy torns.
She is just like the May Rose.
Perfect for admiring, but not for touching.
She is like a rose.
Written August 21, 2013
There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed
But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red
She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone
Beneath groaning wood
And shrill midsummer whistling
Cherry blossom girl
Like a flower you are
Mixed Beauty with generous attar
Flowers progression from year to year
Phenomenal that should be revealed
Some will be picked from the fields
That loved ones would be pleased
Some would be crushed by feet
As lovers wonder the fields
Some would dry out from the heat
Plummeting seeds into deep beauty sleep
Yet again to rouse every next coming spring
Spectacular art work that can’t be real
Where minds and hearts could meet
Admiring that's of nature novel gown
So my words to you would be brief
Wake up my dear from your deep sleep
For Spring is not far from reach
Let nothing defeat your beat
For like this flower you will be
Beauteous, generous lady indeed
Prevailing with each coming spring
The night air is cool and collective,
Running through my hair and face.
Even when I’m with people, I feel alone
In this cold blooded space.
It’s like walking through a garden
Of all your favorite foods,
But none of which can substantiate
For that one so special mood…
that beautiful frame of mind.
I only go there with you,
And only you can make it unwind.
I discovered a passion unlike any other
And in my finding I opened a world,
A world I did not know existed.
I’m on cloud nine every time I think of you,
Just the thought of you brings joy to my heart.
This garden holds many beautiful things
Many delightful pleasures,
Many cold nights,
Ecstatic times and unsystematic times!
But they mean nothing to me,
While I’m alone…
Walk with me through this garden.
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall,
As children gay the songbirds call;
Should I then cry or blithely sing
This dreary day in merry spring?
As children's cries the winds will squall,
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall;
To know the reason, I desire,
But dare a mortal heav'n enquire?
Some girls pick flowers wet with rain,
An old man smiles and waves his cane;
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall
And splash upon the cheeks of all.
As if in prayer the grass bows down
To meet the clover's purple crown,
For both on them and on my shawl
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall.
*April 28th, 2014*
I do not know?
Oh! pretty nature
This is eye-catcher
On the wet, wet grass
There were few dew drops
Shelly and I
Reeling, in pleasure
Selling, our leisure
Rolling, in great measure
This is big pleasure
O, I love this season
This is the reason...
Oh my spring girl, who walks in boots
made for the intended winter;
you who picks the first rose, which
bloom with the first month of spring.
Oh my darling spring girl, come in my
deep dreams and come into my weak arms,
as I see you in the flesh come to me in my heart,
with your brow painted with lilacs and roses
in my dreamland where we can be-
safe and sound;
come now my spring girl,
leave your winter boots at my door,
and come with me,
come now my spring girl-