A rare, delicate and beautiful flower has many admirers but only one, true gardener.

It is her gardener to whom she fully amplifies her radiance, releases her fragrance and extends the tenderness of her ripe and strong stem, a homage to him who delivered her first, pure nourishment.

Her voluptuous display ensnares the gaze of many passersby. And, she extracts their transferable energy as temporal sustenance while absent from the caress of her master.

Ever an astute and delicate diplomat, the flower returns her onlookers’ anticipation with a brilliant production, a communal dance of color, emitting just a hint of her sweet aroma and a glimmer of her vibrance.

Her concert exudes her abundant value and potency, yet she reserves her full power for him only.

It is toward her giver alone she will expend all she has—her beauty, zest and her uniquely sweet salve containing her love…which only the master horticulturalist’s palate is trained to sample. There are no contenders!

She will give her all joyfully and without reservation because it is to him she fulfills her purpose: to BE… beautiful, strong, stimulating, a beacon of hope, colorful, uplifting, joyful, healing, sustaining, peaceful, a legacy of love and a dowry toward his imagined eternity!

She is fully obedient to his heart’s desire, being that of a different eternity than he’s ever dreamed. It is his one and only yearning.

Over time, and as days draw dim, the constant gardener contractually feeds his elegant iron. Albeit, he does so amiss...

He no longer offers his best nutrients, as he perceives he will cease to garner a return on investment from his bountiful flower.

He  perceives, erroneously, by what talent the flower’s abundance appeared and predicts a yield of diminishing returns if he continues to endow his most coveted earthly goods.

In truth, the flower’s opulence existed by his nourishment of love and adoration, never by his world renowned, curated concoctions.

Alas, “all things must die---it is the lot of the living--and the one thing which defies eternity,” he reasoned to the flower, who activated his heart. 

He embraces death’s harshness and buries deep his birthright, the seed of love and the ONLY eternity, providing his flower minimal sustenance, weaning her of vital nourishment, knowing his calculated starvation pact of one will expedite the flower’s demise, albeit in the earthly realm.

He rehearsed his melodically caustic lullaby of love to her ear, in the key of Robert Frost, “nothing gold can stay.”

Death, as the gardener understands, is the only true eternity, although he craved an alternative. However…

He had not discerned his flower’s awareness. She knew she would die an untimely death at her master’s hand but would not despise her fate, as any self-determination, apart from her architect’s wisdom, would be unloving, she conceded.

Her soft and faint voice whispered to his distant, grave heart, “if I must perish by my gardener’s hand then it is right I should perish, but ONLY by his trained hand.”

She knew he was as deeply acquainted with preparation for the grave as he was the gift of life affirming, which affirmation he would allow his heart no more.

She was devoted to him you see, even in the face of death. Therefore, she embraced his painstaking sentence, which some would pair with torture.

Yes, the master was aware of the cruelty of starvation but considered it a fitting companion for immutable demise and unrequited love, both being lifelong partners. 

He served his flower a final, poisonous meal of neglect, which she received as his just and sweet nectar. She perceived its power to kill, as she drank voraciously to her death.

She wept and rejoiced while returning her power, as down payment, to the hand of her love for the most noble cause…a “future and a hope.” This she accomplished for an invisible but living eternity. The kind of eternity for which her master yearns and will one day enjoy.

He kissed his flower once more as she bowed to his will, her petals falling limp within his palms-- shriveled under the coolness of his moon.

He fulfilled his duty, so convicted is he...it is his strength

And she has served her earthly purpose--so yielding is she...it is her strength

Neither the flower nor her author’s life remain.

She died facing his hardest love.

He died burying hers. 

He was her prince of the moon, so she rests under the moonlight.

She was his sunlight so he awaits an eternal sunrise.

Neverending love awaits them both because of his first devotion of boundless nourishment toward her and because of her final dedication of obedience and hope toward him.

Love is obediently boundless and therefore, eternal!

The end is the beginning...

©

9/17/2018

Crystal Black, as Blackhandmade

#new#flower#unrequitedlove#death#allegory#love#readme#Monday#yearning#eternity#God #follow #followme #contest #popular #different #unique #July

Behold! There is a legion in full force today. Respect and pause are its reward. It is charged with the duty of brightly adorning earth’s canvas while paralyzing the inhabitants therein. It possesses the keys to calamity or calm, your perception and response determines which. Consider this- the legion will neither descend upon you nor retreat from you by human command. There is no schism in this troop!

Its hue can blind your eyes to crimson. The countenance of its design is bright! Its garment is that of an innocent, yes, pure as that driven. You might describe its coming as a type of “poetry in motion,” yet you are cautious of its devices. You yield to its force, in season, and that is good. You know its appointed timing well.

Each member of the outfit is bestowed a unique shape, a distinction so to speak. But once assimilated, a legionnaire’s mission, apart from its membership, does not exist. The legion can cover the breadth of an object in minutes with none able to recall the object's estate before the descent. Legion is commanded to befall the just and the unjust without partiality!

Know this! This legion’s only refuge lies within the chill of a winter’s day, but there is none hiding place when faced with the sun’s rays; for that day ensures its mission’s end. It is solely by the power of the great light it yields.

Eventually, the legion’s power will submit to the earth where it is needed, and for a season the land will be satisfied.

The legion’s sole king and commander orchestrates “the force” from the third heaven!

Your inner voice recalls the legion’s name. Speak its name...

©

1/4/2014

Crystal Black, as Blackhandmade

#universe#awe#questions#aname#followher#blackhandmade#prose#million#legion#power#life#spiritual#faith#wonders#amazing#cold#weather#riddle#writer

In the “Waiting Room” We are all as unique as our fingerprints.

I sat in the doctor’s office waiting for a friend to have an important but unwelcomed procedure done. I was there for moral and chauffeur support. While waiting, I busied myself first by reading a very interesting National Geographic article titled “The New Science of the Brain.”

After awhile though, my attention turned to “the people,” who were sitting and waiting all around me. There was so much physiological variety in the room! It was like a feast of every sort of desirable food. There were men and women, the old and young, those who I presumed to be American born and those I learned had arrived in this opportune land from other nations.

While I watched and studied (trying not to seem ‘weird’ by glancing up and around frequently, perking my ears to the conversations around me) I noticed a variety of activity. Some, like me, appeared to be engrossed in some of the print material placed around the office while others were engrossed in quiet conversations.

Several people, necks bent and hanging low, occupied themselves with various technological devices while one woman alone knitted. Over the course of the next 40 minutes or so, my “people learning” activity became more interesting than the article I had earlier found fascinating. I began to notice with all of the uniqueness around me, there was one human commonality which was glaringly evident in all of those present in the waiting room:

We were all in that room as either a patient or a help. Ultimately, each of us below the surface of our temporary activities, were generous souls but concerned and clearly vulnerable. Each person in the room endured the unusual experience out of concern for someone they loved, generous because they each gave of their time for someone who needed the support. We, in the room, were vulnerable because there would be an outcome to each of our visits that day which none of us could predict.

I knew for sure no one was there for the routine annual physical, simply having their reflexes checked—the ole’ knock on the knee shtick. Most were there, along with their helps, to endure an invasive test, glean important information about their long-term health or to be treated for a very serious medical problem.

We were all the same in that space in time, whether we realized it or not. Call me…here’s that word again…‘weird’ but I found it slightly intimate and largely beautiful to be among people I didn’t know, may never see again, but with whom I was connected.

Of course the fear, discomfort, long wait time and uncertainty was not admirable and not a light matter in my eyes, but it was the LIVING experience of being vulnerable which none of us in the room could alter, choose to opt-out of after a certain point or deny if we were being honest. That’s it! It was this irrefutable commonality in humankind which was beautiful. It was our shared vulnerability which made everyone else in the room relatable to me and my friend, despite our unique background or history.

My recalling of one irregular morning is a moment in time I’ve set apart in my mind while helping a friend get through one of those small but sticky points of life. It was a moment which from here on out I’ll call a “fingerprint.” A fingerprint, like every person, is composed of a unique impression, similar to what the people in the waiting room made on me. And, the impression directs my attention to Him—the Holy and Omnipotent One.

©

3/14/2014

Crystal Black, as Blackhandmade

I detected your style from the beginning, yet your frame I did not despise

I gathered your disposition instantly upon meeting your provocative eyes

My instinct was confirmed while witnessing your consumption of motley salves

Oh, what fortitude it took to harness my heart as you imbibed, doing nothing by halves

Your demonstration wore the aroma of emptiness, which awareness you worked relentlessly to numb

The emptiness was relatable, however, the result of your efforts became zero-sum

Uniqueness, confidence and skill you brazenly exuded

So I chose a common path, with reservation, to pretend to be deluded

You seem to possess a covert compulsion to hunt and subdue your prey by wit

While I have a potent proclivity to excavate what is deeply buried, bit-by-bit

You provided organic nourishment, a serendipitous expedition into your mind

Perhaps I supplied secondary fruit whenever your primary entertainment began to unwind

Our time of illusory opulence has come to an end, as you now perceive what I’ve held back from inception

And I, Dear Paraquat, find blatant disregard far too uncouth to permit any ongoing connection

I could have endured the charade so long as I felt, in your company, like an allusive lotus flower

Yet, immediate dispassion ensued when you revealed your true desire for me to submit to base orthodoxy & cower

I now recognize an upside to being starved by my former contract partner for the past twenty years

I’ve honed a deep aversion to neglect and will not offer, to the unappreciative, my tears

You miscalculated, Dear Paraquat, assuming you had more time to pull my strings

My threshold for foolishness has diminished, and a penchant for an adept artist will increase abreast my wings

While our interaction was recessed, I remained loyal to our bond

After reuniting, I was unsure how our temperaments would respond

When I whispered, “I love you,” I truly meant the “you” whom you cannot seem to fathom

The “you” who will not allow himself to be vulnerable merely coveted by a pseudo harem

The beautiful you perhaps went into hiding at the tender age of six

And I look forward to eternal paradise where all human ills will enjoy their fix

I cannot say if instead it was your aim to dissuade my sincere, intrepid energy

Whatever your goal, being different, as we ALL are, is no excuse for disrupting the flow of our synergy

“Carry on, as you were” Dear Paraquat! Our season was but a stint

Meanwhile, the lotus will press toward a lifestyle in which she is appropriately regarded by her Elect flock as Bona Fide Mint!

….and she will offer NO LESS to her companions.

Still, there’s mercy, my forever love. You taught the lotus well.

©

7/1/2017

Crystal Black, as Blackhandmade

She quietly ended the telephone conversation, bid her customer farewell and slowly, every so carefully, returned the telephone receiver to its base.

Now, I’d keenly listened to the woman submit to this necessary but rote action multiple times per day, every day, for over five months, and each time I heard her telephone receiver lock down, I cringed, lately to the point a swift shudder of heat rolled over my skin, albeit momentarily.

Yes, it was irritating me. I mean, I didn’t know it could take sooo long to hang up a phone.

Recently though, I’d begun feeling like the mad protagonist of Edgar Allen Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart—ready to snap into a small fit of delirium over “the sound, THE SOUND“ of the plastic receiver being set into its base, ever so methodically. Click—click, click—click was all I heard.

Don’t worry, concerned readers, no need to be checking the internet for deals on strait jackets, but you’ve been forewarned.

My hearing, I believe, is sometimes overly attuned to the airwaves. So much so, it’s hard for me at times to regulate.

I digress...

One day, I pondered my sensitivity to the seemingly small, telephonic violation and considered why it snagged my attention so easily. Then I turned my focus away from the talking tool and toward her.

Why did she hang up the phone THAT way and why did her WAY fluster me so? Then I got a clue!

What I recognized about those small moments throughout the day, outside of the fact I really needed to laugh at myself (it helps tremendously you know), was something special about THAT woman.

It wasn’t “the sound” of the receiver connecting with its base which pleaded for my attention, stymied my work groove and made me want to call out “would you just hang it up already!”

The steady control she used to measuredly handle the small instrument—quietly, consistently, and with resolute cadence commanded my pause and attention. I should know—I watched her (smiling).

It was the rhythmic pace, that process of hers, which interjected on my mental activity and forced me to take note.

No matter the nature of the woman’s many telephone calls, be they light, mundane, heartily cheerful or often times tense, the woman granted steadfast care to something as unassuming as a telephone, as only she would.

My comrade revealed a component of her unique self, a part of her which directs my “inward” self to a higher level of human relations and virtue.

It was self control I was witnessing every day, delivered by the simplest of tasks, and the agitation I felt was caused by the forced pause I experienced each time I heard the clicking of the telephone receiver, signifying a definitive end to a conversation.

The forced pause was contrary to my skin but piqued the interest of my higher self. The competing nature of the two, my skin and my higher self, is what caused the conflict I was experiencing within, rather than the rote act of hanging up a phone.

The habitual nature and comfort of my skin wanted to press through the day without interruption but my higher, inward self was curious about that pause which required time for an extra step, more thoughtfulness, a slower pace and a moment for reflection. The pause, I perceived, was a better way to engage the day and consider a more mindful approach to daily interactions with all things.

Today, I both value and respect the imprint the woman’s habit has left with me!

We’ll call the woman, Temperance... Click—click!

©

Crystal Black, as Blackhandmade

3/12/2014

He loved her when she could do nothing for herself

His love expressed while coaching her, by his sure but tender hand, to get back in the game

He loved her when she believed she could do everything for herself

His love expressed in the knowingness of his gaze as she feverishly designed a blue print for her life, spanning 30 years.

He loved her when she realized some things in life cannot be planned;

Her heart was wounded for the first time

His love expressed in the gentle way he pulled her close, shielding her in his own way from the fiery darts of life aimed at his little girls heart.

He loved her when he watched her bring life into the world

His love expressed in the way he stood in the wings while this new life was welcomed into her own daddy’s arms.

He especially loved her when he awoke from his slumber and realized he’d never been any of those things to her...

His love expressed by the daily prayers he continually offered up as a holy sacrifice, on her behalf, for the rest of his years.

He committed himself in the only way he knew, by leaning on the One who had loved and protected her always...

“His grace is sufficient”

©

7/21/19

Crystal Black, as blackhandmade

#daddy#healing#Godislove#protection#Him#daughter#prayer

Man of moonlight, illuminate me

The lesser of two great lights you cannot be

Your guiding beam tempers darkness where the eye cannot see

Man of moonlight, wherever you rise, never cease to consider me…

The greater light burns fiercely throughout the day, even penetrating human skin

While your calming ray stands guard over the night beckoning peace unto all men

The subtle shine, which you exude, captures the collective agreement of all

Never brazen but always present, you unwaveringly rise to a divine call

You have eight distinguishing phases which renders you starkly unique

The greatest light you are, especially in your fullness, showcases your power at its peak

Man of moonlight, illuminate me

The lesser of two great lights you cannot be

I will look to you at the evening tide, awaiting your soft, blue hue

Trusting your light to appear where you’ll announce the dawn, presenting itself anew

©

8/5/2019/ Crystal Black for blackhandmade

She desires a hand to hold, one which is bold, not brash or brazen

She desires a front row seat to his mental agility which brings on his hard earned sweat, yet instead she encounters minds which are set on deception and deflection

She desires a guiding light toward a vision larger than her heart; he must see beyond the long stretch of her arm, which requires a mental focus independent of charm

She desires him, wherever he may be, to never allow his adoration to depart while always securing her trust ...it is his reasonable part

All of her days, she will support him with the respect, admiration and loyalty she can sustain.

Honestly, she desires God.

Amen?

© Crystal Black for blackhandmade

10/1/2019

-Alas, the earth rested and peace was welcomed throughout

-Man, woman and child were no more by sunset

-The animals of the earth could smell the pending sleep of humanity which was to come

-Twigs of trees, like arms, waved in surrender, thirsting for a

new day

-The sun, moon and stars gave notice to all living creatures that relief was in wait of the

horizon

-All waters grew still with murmerings as though a supersonic call, ushering in worldwide peace, had washed upon the atmosphere...waters and atmosphere speak a common language.

-The wind breathed the secret of eternity, “7 days,”audible to all living, save for those erected and recycled of the dust. The dusters, as rarely described, are a bit hard of hearing...fatefully, to their demise.

Crystal Black for blackhandmade

10/1/2019

Tomorrow never came...

If it had, I believe I would have liked getting to know you. Maybe I like you.

Tomorrow never came...

If it had, I would have made up for my neglect, or perhaps not.

Tomorrow never came...

If it had, I would not be wondering if I missed a good opportunity with you.

Tomorrow never came....

If it had, I may never have realized that tomorrow is a gift I cannot promise.

Tomorrow never came, for us

If it had, I would not be writing about, yesterday.

I said I would call, you trusted I would call...I should have called... before tomorrow.

©

Crystal Black for blackhandmade

10/26/2019