How could something,
Be as soft as silk,
Yet so strong and rough,
Like a guttural voice.
It defines beauty as we see it,
A soaring sensation to our stomach,
Fragile before our fingers,
It dies so fast.

But that is the bloom, that’s all we see,
We don’t notice the rough bark,
The vibrant thrum of life that hums inside,
The multitude of chittering chattering insects and bugs,
Inside the cherry blossom tree.

We see beauty inside the flowers but not the bark
But for someone who’s climbed a tree,
Got cuts on their body,
Sat on the wondrous branches,
Looked upon the world, from so high up,
Who felt like a deity,
The world is just the bark and the flower.