Of a flower
Is to wilt
A Forgotten Poet
i was once
a tiny flower
growing in the cracks
as just another aspiring
then my petals
collected the sun
with dewy drops
glistening for all to see.
and people saw,
saw my beauty rising,
beyond the grey
beyond the expectations
beyond the other flowers.
but that was a long time ago,
i bet you don’t remeber it,
remember me and my flower persona,
because the world has grown cold
and my petals
so i freeze
with the winter world.
i am a dying flower,
becoming once again
something you didn’t notice.
/No one ever told me I’d have to say goodbye\
I always thought people like you and me
《Went on for eternity》
Now I see that people are like flowers
•Withering under the heat of life•
Eventually fading away to nothing but brittle petals
~A ghost of what they used to be~
It saddens me to see a bouquet of roses
/◇/Seemingly discarded at a grave\◇\
But now I know they’re just a picture of you
+A person that once breathed and lived like a flower+
Turning their face up towards the sun
●Just to crumble and die when the snow came●
Disappearing without a trace
|As white blanketed the ground with an icy hug|
I miss you like the winter misses spring
(But I hate you like the spring hates winter)
Once upon a time
you gave me a flower
Just because you thought it might
bring a smile to my face
during a hard time.
Sunkissed yellow petals
on a sturdy green stem.
I treasured it, put it in water
looked at it every day.
Then life got in the way,
and while my back was turned
that cheery token from nature
died a little more each day.
Until one fateful moment
its wilted stem and fragile petals
found its way to the wastebasket.
I wish I’d paid more attention
pressed it between a book or
saved it in photograph form.
I’d have rescued it
if I could
like an abandoned pup.
It’s gone forever
except in my memory
but even that
is a poor reminder.
So I’m etching that image
into the words of this poem
and I’ll look back at it
every now and then.
You might think
I’m a sentimental idiot
and you might be right...
But let me say something
You might never know
just how much
that little gesture of kindness
brightened a dim heart
once upon a time.
Whispers of war.
She played her violin
to the dying flowers
after they pulled down
those twin towers
the poppies in Afghanistan
where her choir they
soothed her to sleep
killed the pain
now her petals
fall to the dust when rainbows
and now before she plays to me
injecting afghan brown is a must
the violin she plays is slow but it sounds like dying flowers at every show.
I taped the flowers
upon my bedroom wall
in hopes to keep
the memory of
the color faded
the scent grew weak
became stiff and hard
is beauty still
to our love.
Among the hills
The teslas outnumber deer
the grass (turf) cost
people on deck chairs
Before I was a seedling in my parent’s pods,
My father’s father died of breathing-pore cancer when my father was 16.
My father was the eldest of the garden Flowers then, suddenly,
With two younger saplings to shade.
As such, he took the hard hail the hardest;
Turned to self-polluting; wilted petals and pain.
Flowers, though, always grow back when you least expect it.
Pain, you see, (particularly the pain of puked-up regret)
Is an excellent fertilizer.
One day, barely awakened by a passing golden shower,
Good old father Flowers realized the error of his ways,
Shed the layers of dog-pissed petals,
And ceased growing his roots in the cess-pit of chems.
Eventually, he even faced the sun again,
Dried up though he was.
T’was then the breeze blew his gentle yearnings,
By way of a church,
To fortuitously further the fruitful cycle of pollination.
In a way we Flowers are no different from you apes:
Organic matter, surviving the throng.
We all die; but we’re always reborn in some way,
At least parts of us are;
Our experience, knowledge, heck even our corpses
Add fragrant revelations
To the great compost of life.
Grandpa and I planted the sunflower seeds in the garden, one hot, dry summer when I was four. I love my grandpa, he is so kind, he always speaks lovingly. He never yells as grandma does, she’s scary with her witch voice.
Grandpa and I water the seeds daily and watched them grow. They grew and grew and grew they grew taller than Grandpa, oh my I didn’t know. Grandpa said soon the sunflower’s seeds in the middle would be good enough to eat. I couldn’t wait, it seemed like FOREVER.
It’s been days, Grandpa hasn’t been here to water the sunflowers, they are withering and dying. Grandma says grandpa is in the hospital, he’s very sick and probably won’t come back home.
My head starts spinning with questions what does that mean won’t come back home where is he going? Why doesn’t he want to come back home? I ask grandma my questions she says he’s dying from lung cancer from smoking cigarettes. I didn’t understand, I asked who was going to water the sunflowers? She shrugged her shoulders like she always did, saying she didn’t know, not her.
I watered the sunflowers the best I could I took a bucket and tried to do what grandpa did when he got the water, I placed the bucket under the spout then grabbed the handle that was too high to reach, so I had to go find a chair, and I did. I pushed down on the handle and it wouldn’t move.
So I walked down to the creek and scooped up some water from there. I carried it back splashing most of it out of the bucket as it was too heavy for me to carry. But I did it. I watered one of the flowers. I had enough energy to do walk to the creek once more.
No help from wicked grandma. All she does is sits in her rocking chair and reads her romance novels all day long. She won’t even look at me when I try and talk to her. She is so mean. ” Please come back, grandpa”
Grandma saw me coming back with the bucket of water and asked where I got it. I told her the creek. She took a stick off the tree and hit me over and over with it telling me not to go there again. It hurt so bad and I didn’t understand. I asked how do I get water? She said “YOU DON’T”
One by one the flowers started dying until only 2 were left. The two I was able to water, but they were withering and slowly dying too. 2 days later grandma said to me “your grandpa is dead we are going to throw the dead flowers away too” and that’s what she did.
She threw away my grandpa, the sunflowers, and my heart.