Reflection
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The flowers shout, “Bloom!” and we inside begin
To blossom although others cannot see
This. Deep within us opens up a twin
Pink peony of providence. A tree
Supplies a crown of leaves for wind or breeze
To frolic in and suddenly we dance
Combined. So we become a copse of trees,
Become a ballet troupe with arms askance
As if they hope to capture April dreams,
Antennae set to focus on the stars,
Or scientific instruments for beams
Revealing Big Bang aftermaths like scars
That look like gauze of galaxies which wait
For mystics searching for a kindly fate.
