Oh, what I would do to rid you of the hell
that torments your deepest memories.
The strife that we had once endured,
are tales that we’ve kept unheard
beneath our fruitful shame.
We will bloom.
I want us to exist beyond the roots,
in the deepest trenches we have yet
to discover of our damaged selves,
we will bloom.
If only I could convince time to bestow
its kindness upon us like the dew from
trees that sustains all that’s beneath,
we’d bloom. Through all the hell we’ve
endured we’ll bloom. We will bloom.
If only I could convince time…