There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
At dawn the bees rise, gold-dusted and brave,
Wings humming promises the morning gave.
They cross wide fields with tireless devotion,
Reading the air like a sacred motion.
They do not pause for the loudest bloom,
Nor the flower that flaunts its heavy perfume.
They search with care, with patient sight,
For nectar that’s true, for sweetness that’s right.
From petal to petal they gently roam,
Borrowing gold to carry it home.
Through storms, through heat, through uncertain skies,
Their faith is honey, their hope never dies.
So too stands a man in a garden wide,
Where countless flowers bloom with pride.
Each one calling, “Choose me, see
I am beauty, I am destiny.”
Some shine bright but with shallow roots,
Some wear colors but hide their truths.
He learns, like bees, to look within,
Beyond soft petals, beyond the skin.
Then he sees her quiet, rare,
A rose that blooms with mindful care.
Not loud in scent, not proud in show,
But deep in strength, in steady glow.
Her thorns speak wisdom, her red speaks grace,
Time has etched truth upon her face.
She stands unmoved by fleeting eyes,
Rooted in earth, beneath vast skies.
The man chooses as the bees have taught:
With patience earned and lessons bought.
Not every flower is meant to be,
But the rose is love’s eternity.
And like the bees that return with gold,
He carries a treasure more precious to hold
A love well chosen, pure and true,
A rose unique, forever new. 🌹🐝
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
Comments