Every day I look inside,

In search of creativity,

To discover parts of me, ...

Majestic trees,

Especially in the spring,

Transport me back, ...

The smallest things,

Carry me back in time,

To when days were long, ...

A day confined,

When my breathing,

Wishes it was refined. ...

Over the years,

I’ve come to realize,

That appearances, ...

Silver bell, plastic labels,

Yesterday’s dried tears.

Not the perfect sight, ...

In younger days,

Newness appealed.

Friends, objects, or places, ...

Even crumpled, or

In the midst of crowds,

There are whiles, ...

Yesterday at day’s end,

I felt shattered and tired.

I tried to uncover, ...

I like my coffee,

To look and taste,

A certain way. ...

Meditating today,

To a growing plant,

Felt frustrating, ...

When my tears,

Like spring’s petals fall,

I do not hide, ...

Early in life,

I learned to build isolated,

Hard to reach places inside. ...

Signs,

I cannot understand.

What it all means, ...

When the road is visible,

The countryside adorned,

By smiling flowers, ...

In childhood,

My father often said,

“Stand tall, be strong.” ...

On dark gloomy days,

When the sun,

Refuses to shine, ...

It is rare,

That I stare at flowers,

Passing me by. ...

As time gradually fades,

Leaving dust and memories,

Along its way, ...

In younger times,

When spring bloomed,

Days felt silky and sweet. ...