Blooming

In a garden where the wildflowers bloom,  

A child once danced, free from shadow and gloom,  

But dark clouds gathered, heavy and gray,  

A storm of silence stole the light away.  

The petals that fluttered, once vibrant and bright,  

Now wilted in corners, hidden from sight,  

Each breath held captive in whispered despair,  

As thorns wrapped around them, bruising the air.  

The sun’s warm embrace turned to frigid night,  

In a cage made of fear, their spirit took flight,  

With laughter as echoes, like whispers of pain,  

A melody shattered, left only the rain.  

The hands that should cradle became tools of distrust,  

With every cruel touch, innocence turned to dust,  

A garden once thriving, now tangled and bare,  

Each flower a memory, lost in the air.  

Yet deep in the soil, a flicker remained,  

A seed of resilience, though battered and drained,  

In shadows it lingered, longing for sun,  

To break through the silence and heal what was done.  

With time, gentle rains began to fall,  

Nurturing hope where despair used to call,  

Roots intertwined, a web of support,  

The child within whispered, "I will not be caught."

Through cracks in the pavement, the colors pushed through,  

A riot of blossoms, both courageous and true,  

No longer confined by the storms of the past,  

A wildflower rising, reclaiming at last.  

So let the stories of shadows be told,  

For in every fracture, there’s strength to behold,  

From the depths of the garden, a new life may start,  

For even in darkne

ss, the light finds a heart.