It is said that the most beautiful of flowers
are to be found on the highest mountain
tops and nestled in the most secluded valleys,
Like the ghetto queens that float gracefully
among the debris of shattered dreams,
hidden in the rankness of grime filled alleys.
These wild orchids and delicate lilys
continue to bud though no one is there to
behold their beauty or see it glisten,
Just as I continue to write my story shine
my light, compelled to tell my tale even in
the absence of someone to listen.
Determined resillience is balanced by a
fragile beauty and held in the perfection of
these sculptures of nature, unintentional
works of art,
Like the fire that blazes behind eyes set in
a tranquil face, the random combination of
a tortured soul mated with a peaceful
I am a mountain lily, born in the solitude of
ice-capped peaks, nurtured by the rain and
raised by the gentle breeze of life,
A flower capable of being destroyed by a
human hand, yet strong enough to endure
the elements and survive the harrowing
storms of my strife.
To find me, you must climb the treacherous
slopes of my defensiveness and search the
valleys of my being to uncover my spirit,
Which is carefully concealed and is the
map that will lead you to the highest peak
of my soul the place where my core is hid.
And on that sacred ground, you will find a
deeply rooted treasure a beauty that is
eternally pure and infinitely true.
You will have found the Mountain Lily,
have earned the honour of witnessing her
bud, and she will be content to bloom for
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