Natasha Louise Boukouris

Flower like the tissue of my heart,
Filigree of flesh,
Fluttering about by unseen forces.
So delicate, yet withstanding.

Fire - illumination of the soul,
Bursting from a core,
Burning orange, radiant.

We are the hosts of many things,
Violence encased in emotion,
Rage born of love,
Truth blossoming from darkness;
Transcendence through my eyes,
From springs first poppies.

Compelled by impulsive possession,
I collect you like a child,
Gathering hope into my hands;
A bouquet of tiny tissue paper hearts.