I am the bard of flowers. A bleeding heart that cares deeply for a world that cares nothing for him, or not nearly as much. The Queen's Anne Lace, for I am a bastion for those that cannot find solace elsewhere. Or, at least I try... The Yellow Rose, for the joy my tales bring, and the bonds of friendship that they create. The Sunflower, for the dedication and love of my craft.
Flowers have always been symbols since we laid eyes on them. We saw their struggles, how the bud, closed off to the world, suffered the elements, the dreary emotional storms of life. And one day, it opened. Its shell of armour fell away as it revealed its face to the world. We, We few are like flowers. In life we first start closed, for many reasons, but one day we open that door and see the world. Whether we finally find that talent we have been meaning to find, our calling or something similar. Perhaps the courage to show the world our true face and not hide behind a mask. Eventually we open our buds, and bloom. For we are life, we are beautiful. We are all glorious.
Maybe we look different. I know for sure that a morning's glory hardly looks like a rose. I'm sure there's a flower that each of us cherishes more than the others, but... all flowers are symbols of emotion. They vary of course, but they represent what makes us most human. emotion. The turbulent seas of that beast known as emotion. Oh, how horribly flawed you are. But, I love you.
You are what makes me human. I feel for I am human. Despite your flaws you make me beautiful. After all, what beauty doesn't have mar and toil underneath. We only look flawless on the outside, but we are cracked, scarred and broken underneath. Some more than others. Some... much better at holding on to all those little shattered pieces. Restrain. A terrible thing to have to do. But, this world shows us its cruel face often and plenty in its appearance. It tells us emotions are wrong, they are only a flaw. But, this is wrong. At least as far as I'm concerned. They are who we are, our soul, our meaning. If we did not have them... we'd be little more than biological machines plinking away trying to make sure there is more of us and that's it. There's so much more to life than that. It's emotion that makes this so. It is the flavour of life. The Spice of it. The Lifeblood. It is our songs, our art, our stories, our muse. Emotion is the force that drives us to feel, to seek, to better, to improve, and most importantly to understand. Emotion is the strongest force within this world. Its many shades colour it. The reds of rage, passion! The white of innocence; purity. The blues of sorrow.. and pensiveness. The green of vibrancy! LIFE ITSELF! Nature's favourite colour. The black of death, grief, strife. The busy yellows, full of energy, joy and their cousin pink sharing so much in its celebration.
In nature, we see all these colours. For emotion, is natural. It is part of us. It is us after all. Too often we are told how and what to feel. We shouldn't listen to this. We should not restrain ourselves this way. Its like asking a painter to never paint with the colour pink, for whatever reason. Still, even if you tell them that, they'll find way anyway, there's no point in suppressing emotion for it will inevitably bubble to the surface. And, when it does, in a way you won't want to see it. For the yellows of joy, easily congeal to rage when pressed, the cool blue, can turn FIERY RED. Careful where you tread, for a flower that has been trod on far too many times... one day won't stand for it any longer. You'll feel the fiery recourse of thorns bite into your flesh.
You know... my favourite flower is the bleeding heart. Not just because it represents me perfectly but for another reason. My heart still bleeds. Sometimes so much it feels like I'm paralyzed that I can no longer move. One white heart, for a person that I shall never see again, a red one for the world. My two hearts both bleed. They bleed all the time and still to this day. Sometimes, I worry that I care to much, that I shall bleed so much that it shall kill me. Let it. It means that I cared about something. I may not be remembered... but that doesn't matter. My spark may be forgotten, but the things i did, the kindnesses I paid forward will kindle new flames, bloom new flowers. And, those flames will spread passion; they shall ignite elsewhere. And those flowers will bloom and show others what it means to find who you are. As such, more will bloom. Even when I'm gone... when I've bled so much, they'll still feel the ripples in that blood, no matter how small they are. They'll always be there. Maybe, they won't cause much impact, they'll be a small buzzing against the ankle of a titan... but it'll still be there. My heart will eternally bleed for this world and everything in it. May it be why I die. May it be the reason I go into whatever new journey awaits me. Because I cared so much for this world. Of course... I'm not wishing that day to come faster. Just that when it does come, that I still care as much as I do.
I'm the Bard of Flowers. The man who once danced amongst a field of anemones, however, no longer. A man who has now had a bird of paradise land on his shoulder. I wear a cloak of daffodils for while I know that the world will never love me back as I love it, I don't care. I am content, I am happy, I am joyful. I shall put a orchid in my cap, and a protea shall rest beside it, for It is I, who rules my destiny. I shall wield the mighty sword lily, so that no matter what darkness I face, I will always remember who I am. I am the Bard of Flowers. I shall continue to write with my quill, the Sunflower. I will pen stories for ages to come. For I, am the Bard of Flowers. Its all I know how to do and its all I care to.