Flourishing power

A further look into the blossoming of these beauties. Right now they are young, but maturation will develop over time.

 

 

 

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The power of a flower

this is a concept i’ve been working on, what is a flower, or what does it mean to be a flower?  i would like to elaborate but this question’s answer is self directed. the colours are not final, at least for the blue tulip. i intend to give such flower a more aquamarine colour scheme.

Flower Power rough concepts

Flower Power rough concepts

Happy suicide

could you image a book in which the protagonist is a gregarious, empathetic and loveable character who is looking for someone to listen to him exhaust himself to suicide? i would wonder at how this characters keen and extroverted spirits end up being the cause of his own demise. what happens along the way that causes this persons transformation? albeit suicide, cannot beauty be seen or portray through such acts of ultimate will power? despair seems to shine a light onto that which grows in the darkness of happiness.

Equally different

difference is the foundation of inequality.
naturally different, equally constructed.
living stacked layers, sun closer for some.
value difference for the value of balance.
variation develops contrast of foundation.
improperly measured, equivalence falters.
the general marks rule, address the specific.
discrepancy accentuated through matter.
materials exist to only further separate.
that left unseen is the most beautiful.

Death marks beauty

is death taboo?
should it be taboo?
it hasn’t been until i’ve aged
that death has been a topical subject.
we gloss over it.
we’re not to dwell on it.
but why not?
is it not a natural part of existence?
should we not teach what we grow
of its inexorable demise?
why not teach a acceptance
of ones own end,
instead of cushioning it with poesy?
buying into the notion of
slowing degeneration,
we’ve allowed a lie.
we see the inevitable
but we powder away it’s
unequivocal presence.
it’s only when we wash our face
that we see truly what we are.

Beauty is a bastard

she asked,
am i pretty.
i had no response,
because really,
like the saying goes,
beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
and if that is true,
regardless of the majority,
what i have to say is neither
right nor wrong.
i know that whatever i say,
i’ll be called a bastard.
for the most part,
it’s true, for the exception that
my mother was married before
i was conceived.