Words on Cards - DHR
A card is an origami of the cosmos,
a square of twilight folded twice,
and folded paper breathes with hidden life.
It is a tiny, quiet theater
where the heart’s unspooled desires
perform a silent, glowing waltz.
We press our love into the pulp of trees,
capturing the soul’s geometry—
a constellation of unspoken things.
The envelope, a vessel of crisp white frost,
guards the fragile alchemy within:
a drop of captured sun,
a winter’s thaw,
a map to where the lonely find a shore.
Open the gatefold,
and watch the topography of care unfold.
Here, embossed forget-me-nots bloom in neon frost:
And velvet ribbons tie the loose ends of a quarrel
into bows of shimmering, impossible light.
The words are not just manufactured rhyme,
but chronometers of grace,
designed to stall the marching hands of time
upon a loved one’s face.
Within the matte embrace of vellum,
a mother’s unsaid courage drips like honey,
a father’s pride stands rooted like an ancient oak,
and friendships that have weathered bitter storms
are poured like stardust into handwritten ink.
These are holograms of memory,
projecting laughter over oceans,
casting warmth into the coldest, darkest rooms.
It waits patiently in the mailbox
to bloom again in the garden of another day.
To give a card is to offer a piece of your own chest,
a paper lantern released into the dark,
a folded sanctuary where the soul can rest.
It tells the receiver: You are seen. You are held.
Even when the physical miles divide us,
our spirits are forever intertwined,
within the beautiful, surreal origami of humankind.
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