Blooming
The words that catch in my throat
bloom freely in ink.
Every line a garden where
feelings grow wild
beyond the fences of speech.
I am not finished yet.
I roam the crowded streets
Seeking a place where
Culture and antiquity meet.
The wind carries my thoughts
Each idiom fleeting
To where I need to go
Like water I am fleeing.
"I am not finished yet."
Subtle but with absolute determination. Love it.