After the hyacinths and the tulips have begun to wilt
Tiny tree blossoms scattered like snow across the grass,
An elegant bush unassumingly draws attention
With wispy leaves and strings of magenta flowers
Shaped like intricate, seeping hearts.
Even in our most noble efforts to remain optimistic
There are days when our souls must fall apart,
Just like these resonant bleeding hearts,
Having suppressed and managed the aching
Until at long last it brims over the edge of our safeguarding,
Spilling out in a rush of grief and tears.
We are allowed to feel the weight of our losses,
To wince from the sting of unwanted change,
Letting our tears to wash over the unhealed spaces
To make room for new seeds of hope to be planted.
These exquisitely melancholy flowers teach us
That there is purpose for the brokenhearted,
Validation to the pain we stoically hide away
Reminding us that in a world of tulips and roses
There are bleeding hearts too, just as beautiful,
Like a familiar and empathetic embrace.
The Therapy of Words 