Flower blossoms from my mind
Flower blossoms from my mind
They blossom, they blossom
Like beauty stirs the day
And poetry flourishes
Stories are shaped
They blossom, they blossom
From the cave of my mind
And the vernacular veins of my heart
Creeping their ways to anywhere
And as they go upon there
My mind stops, and wonder, and think
Of these weeds whose seeds I feed
They blossom, they blossom 
I write till I’m in extaz
While my roots spill ink
Where these words blossom
Blossom into poetic flowers.
-eiravel-
This poem is the continuation of a poem that I wrote last year, titled spilled ink. To my mind, the metaphor for writing really seems like flowers blossoming out from my mind.