Never too old

Blossoming

is not a one-and-done transformation

that hits us once at puberty

Though those flowers unfurl

aching for pollination

that amounts to but a few petals

We are lotuses

transcendent and sublime

even when we've forgotten our depths

Papier-mâché walls

plastered over your darkest secrets

make no match for the scalpels of revelation

Every decade

brings the potential for new growth

waiting to be fed the tears of living

We are perennials

never content to only surge once

eager and waiting for the next chance to die

and flower again