“A Flowing Flower”
Written in January 2025
A man who has control over his emotions
is a joyous man. A man who speaks the truth is, too,
a joyous man. A man whose emotions
can be controlled by one’s owner is the
most joyous man of all.
Advice the wisest king can give would include not belittling
piers,
family members,
or authorities.
In this way, the owner of overcontrolled emotions is a
flower,
standing still where they are planted. The flower may not be the
happiest or the most liked among others, but, too, fails to be
disliked or unhappy, and in this way,
feels accomplished.
The flower,
unexpressed,
in possession only of the key to the box it is trapped within,
is alone.
On the other hand, a man who does not control his emotions at all is
flowing,
anger taking up
every nook and every cranny inside his human body.
The feelings of
envy,
suffering,
and loathing
surround the life of one who is constantly flowing with anger.
So, to be balanced, one must be a
flowing flower,
locking up the privilege of voice when they must but speaking their mind when appropriate.
Fantastic users of the flowing flower are
the masters of emotion and the
most liked among all men,
separated from constant anger and faulty friendship.
The key to opening the box to happiness awaits all who pursue it.
A Note From Roderick
“A Flowing Flower” holds the very special title of being the first poem I’d ever written. First drafted in January of 2025, the piece stemmed from an assignment for my advanced schooling program under a prompt that directed us students to choose two words that sound similar and write a poem revolving around them. I chose the terms “flowing” and “flower,” which led me to the contrast between movement and stillness. For my first ever poem, I greatly wanted to write something meaningful and compelling, and I believe that connecting the piece to the modern world was the easiest way of doing so. Mirroring the movement/stillness to people’s emotions came to me quite quickly from there, and before I knew it, I had completed a full poem. The rest is history.