The Argus Poetry Submission

Soft flowers bloom in the night, wind blowing over the mountains and through the trees. A soft whisper in darkness the sounds of the lake touching the earth while we hold ourselves up into the sky.

Spitfires bloom on into our souls, they live in willow trees and meadows waiting for the light of others.

Gliding through the night I will see you stare at me with your bright green eyes

The answer is not what we want or seek but what has been basted onto our lives regardless of what we have asked for.

Soft trees blowing in the night I see the clouds blooming into the wind and thus we see nothing more than ourselves…. Sweet, young and old with nothing but time in between.