What will be?

A hole burns to be whole. Deeply magnetic to my soul. I’m found in a we. Blooming from one, two, to three:

What will be, what will be?

Do we kill the water, kill the seeds? Do we remove the roots? Pick the trees?

What will be, what will be?

Could this be, phantom? I took it. That little white pill slithered down to delay the seed planting, it’s fertility. Will it be? Will it not? My gut says so, and hasn’t forgot. Although i try to push you aside. Hide. Wondering if this, is a true voice telling me- yes, prepare. Ever-since Hunters full Moon. Did we bloom, like frogs by the lake? In our Lilly pad we made. A mistake? I don’t believe in those. But I’m afraid of this feeling…

Feeling like I am. I am. And what if I am. Why is, I, alone? I don’t want to hold this voice, a knowing crone. What a story to behold! I am afraid, I don’t know what I’ll do this time- if my instincts are right. Close my eyes tight. Be with me rabbit

What will be, what will be?

Do we kill the water, kill the seeds? Do we remove the roots? Pick the trees?

What will be, what will be?

I need a lover, above the surface. Sublime timing- is the universe aligning? Or is it telling me to= Feel this. “Cause you didn’t learn your lesson last time.” What an awfulness, to abandon the baking of a bun. To shun. Unworthy, a magic night. UNCONSCIOUS. Sacred spaces, sacred places. We enter as pages. That spark life…

I strife to do what’s right. Surrender. I’ve done all I can now. I need to let go of what, when, why, how. Bow, to this path laid before me. Writing. Carrying you, my Blue Rose memory- help me see-

What will be, what will be?

Do we kill the water, kill the seeds? Do we remove the roots? Pick the trees?

What will be, what will be?

Blue rose illustration

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