They dress them up in dragon’s breath,
The velvet crowns of thorns
And dance upon the slender stalks,
With grace our lives adorn.
The shimmered head, the wide-flung wings
That promise to give flight
Belie the fearsome power there,
Hidden in plain sight,
To strip away the ache and dread
Of facing one more day
And with pure awe of beauty bound
Give place to come what may.
The dragon stoops and skreighs and dives,
We tremble now in fear.
The orchid sways in whispering breeze
And grounds in beauty here.
The freedom of the wingbeat skies
The awe of painted bloom
Hold, both, the selfsame longing soul
With love become its doom.
[Photo credit: mirabbi, at morguefile.com. NOTE: ‘doom’ means something that lies in the future and will inevitably occur. It doesn’t always mean death and destruction.]