©2025 Samantha Syrnich
She breathes,
and the flowers remember—
their petals unfold
to the hush of her pulse,
the gentle rhythm of becoming.
Each sigh births color,
each tear waters light.
Grief turns green
beneath her skin,
where tenderness takes root
in places pain once lived.
She is the garden
and the wind that stirs it—
the ache, the grace,
the bloom that never asks permission
to rise again.
The Phoenix Quill: Words Born of Fire, Inked in Truth 