The Ever-Blossoming Tree

I’m sitting beneath a tree, 

Tangled 

In the roots, 

My fingers gripping those 

Of each soil-soaked tendril 

Carrying each little part of me 

Up, beneath the thick bark 

Of protective comments, 

Through delicate twigs

Of olive branches,

Into buds

Closed with fear

Of the world outside,

But still pollinated

By bees buzzing

With friendliness,

Until the beginnings blossom,

Flushing pink

With excitement,

Opening their petals

To the blossoms around them,

Dancing,

Laughing with the breeze,

But still waving, greeting,

Thanking the sun

For its forever gold,

But turning back to the blooms,

Their veins glinting silver,

And I reach out my hand,

Stained with the earth,

And find another hand

Tangled in the roots.