The Bloom Unseen

There is a hush before the dawn—
a breath the world forgets to take,
where time slows,
and the universe listens
for the softest heartbeat.

It begins in stillness,
a whisper beneath the ribs,
where stardust gathers and dreams are woven
from threads of moonlight and honeyed dawn.
A secret promise cradled in twilight,
swelling with the weight of what could be.

Oh, how the earth leans in—
the wildflowers pause their blooming,
and the oceans hold their tides,
for even creation knows
when something sacred begins.

I am no sculptor of fate,
but a tender steward of becoming,
a guardian of delicate infinities.
The stars have charted your arrival,
and I, with trembling hands,
prepare a path lit by dawn’s first gold.

This body—a temple,
a vessel hollowed by love
to make room for the bloom unseen.
I carry not just life,
but possibility.
A garden waiting for the sun,
where every breath whispers:
You are wanted. You are wonder.

To carry you is to hold the sunrise,
to walk with dawn in my chest,
where each flutter, each silent stirring,
is a universe taking shape.
You, tender bloom,
unfurling with the wisdom of wild things
who know how to grow without being told.

And when you arrive—
dripping in morning light,
eyes wide as the heavens that dreamt you—
I will not call you mine.

For you are the dawn’s own child,
woven from starlight and storm,
sent to wander,
to rise,
to bloom.

My hands will never shape your path,
only brush the dirt from your knees,
whispering, Go—
the world is yours to bloom in.

I am but the soil that held you,
the riverbed that cradled your current.
You are the water, the bloom,
the dawn breaking free—
a breath the world had forgotten
it was waiting to take.