Lilac Child

I would sit there, under the lilac bush. Fund sanctuary and solace where the June sun would dance though pale purple blooms. Imbued by all the hues and shades of an infinite wild garden I could roam freely — I was cradled in the color.

And yet when you found me there, you uprooted me.

You had rather I wither and wilt then become overgrown — an eyesore! I often wonder, did you know then that when you asked me to tone my self down, to become more palatable, that you asked me to bury who I was somewhere deep within myself? And year after year you did your best to salt the earth where I lay.

But there were those who still watered that plot of dirt, who new that I was but a seedling. And like the sun casting colors on closed eyelids, I allowed my self the chance to grow again,

For I am the son of all the son’s of Apollo and the ghosts of women who’s unconditional love came easy like spring rain!

I am the lilac child. I am the fullness of every wild garden I choose to tend, And I will never allow you to cut me down again.